A Letter to John Edwards
Dear Mr. Edwards,
Right now, I am so mad at you. If we were to meet, I would punch you. Seriously. I would do a double-take, tap you on the shoulder, and take a swing right at your twinkling eyes.
If you think I'm a bit late on the 'John Edwards is such a Douche' bandwagon, well, maybe I am. I was surprised when the rumor that you had had an affair floated past my ears like some poisonous miasma, but I rejected it. When CNN picked up on it, though, I couldn't deny it any longer. I was sort of speechless, for nearly a week. You had been my favorite in the past two national primaries. I had held out on Kerry, Clinton and Obama in the hopes that you might catch lightning in a bottle in '03 and '07. I preached your gospel nearly daily to my friends when we would debate. I even saw you three times, when you came to Atlanta for rallies. Perhaps you would remember the last one, this past January: it was snowing in Atlanta, a very rare occurrence. You spoke at a Union hall down in the West End, by the highway. I was so happy to see you, and so sad at the same time, because I came so close to you, but didn't get to shake your hand for what would've been the fourth time.
You dropped out of the race a few days later. I was so depressed when you did.
But why am I upset with you, sir? You, who I considered to be my political role model? Because, Sir, you should be standing up there, on the Convention dais, with the new political giants, shaping the world. Your message was important, and it still is.
I am so angry at you. I could just slap you across the face.
I'm not angry at you for the fact that you did it while your wife is dying. (Oh, what the hell, I am!) I am so upset because you threw it away. You invoked the Bill Clinton Defense for your transgression and thought that would pass as an excuse for participating in a time-honored tradition in politics. Oh, I could just choke you. And you could've been something- maybe a consideration for VP, maybe a cabinet post- oh, you could've made such a great HUD Secretary!. You coulda had class. You coulda been a contender.
You threw it away, though, for a New Age flake who had about as much integrity and grace in her entire body as your wife has in her little finger... (And trust me: my Mom's an artist- I grew up in the art world. I've known my share of flakes. I can spot one at 50 paces.)
At this point, I don't know how we are in our relationship. You were, after all, my first political crush, way back in 8th grade. I was just a dumpy little tween, dreaming of a more exciting life without George W. Bush as president. I was simply enchanted by your populist beliefs and Southern roots (and- I'm not going to lie- your boyish good looks weren't entire detrimental to your cause). Could I vote for you? I don't know. Could I look you in the eye if I met you in the street? I don't know. Would I smile at you? Maybe. Would I sock one of your lights out? Damn straight I would.
Sir, You simply broke my heart. And now, only- maybe- time, and a generous helping of Democratic presidency, can heal it. But I will confess that I still believe in you, no matter how angry you make me, and I will still preach your gospel. That, sir, is fidelity.
Edit: I originally said that I would defend your name in debate, but now, Sir, I cannot. It hurts too much.
Yours still,
Isobel