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That’s my Way

Dixon Stuelke ©  2024

Five

I sent him an enthusiastic handprinted letter the day after the show, pointing out a misspelling of “school” on his brochure — very bad public first impression for any aspiring Education Governor — made a few layout and wordage suggestions since it needed changing anyway, offered some food for thought on the budding new science of juvenile criminology.

And since he had highly commended my wise, cracking poet act, with a poem, naturally I would nurture this beneficial bond 🦶🏻 with a little poetly wisecracking too.

Diligence and artistry, foresight and industry — certainly smart leadership could easily 🦶🏻 recognize these in my ink, error-free, handprinting, my semantically-anticky turns of phrase so cleverly counter-boring, my crediting his capacity to see it for him own self 🦶🏻 by not overtly unveiling that the fonting’s fluctuations impersonate actual speech; character literally leaping off each page, great way to stand out from the crowd 👍🏻 <“See? I knew it was a great idea!”>.

Such a letter would be the best, rightest way to hold on to his well-deserved high esteem, and might even be better than a rèsumé.    Mine’s way too random anyway.    . . .    But, that’s another story.

His hand-signed reply thanked me and said several people had missed the “school”-spelling typo; the brochures were being reprinted.    Spelled out his plans for the schools and the funding — knowledgeable, intelligible, feasible, sensible, explicable, affordable, achievable, remarkable — expectable of such a self-respecting ever-working policy-living wonk.

Said a recent Dateline episode had featured a student in California murdered, a heedlessly-hired janitor accused, and agreed again we should tighten up the screening process.

I wrote back, offering my proven proofreading and writing and conscience-🦶🏻-being skills, and offered yet another affordable School Carpenter’s school strengthening idea:    when opportunities for change arise, why not grant our teachers more say in the design of their own classroom?    And didn’t forget to wisecrack, and didn’t forget ✌🏻“to poet”✌🏻, and didn’t get a response.    Hmp.    Maybe I mixed up the message.    I’m pretty good at that.    . . .    But, that’s another story.

Sent another letter.    Got another nonresponse.    Or, maybe he just doesn’t want any Consciences of Society hanging around.    Never knew any Leadership that actually did myself.    . . .    But that’s another story.

Sent him a congratulations letter as Governor Elect, asking for a job outright, my favorite idea being State Children’s Advocate, to advise legislation, research and report its likely effects on our kids, before it ever hits his desk.    Every government’s gonna need one sooner or later anyway; why not ours first, with me?

Or, State Poet Laureate would nicely do, too.

His autosigned reply thanked me for the suggestions, but alas and boo-hoo, no interview.    To be fair, I had only contributed ideas, and no money.

My background checks were implemented, though, so at least the kids are better off.    Granting total strangers free and total access to our children in the schools is now an unthinkable thing of the past.

. . .

I would’ve loved working in Government, though, advocating and spreading the idea that safeguarding our children, all of ’em, over and before everything, everything else, as if they really were the very highest most ultimately important, precious, cherished thing there ever is, makes for a kindlier, sounder Society, a more harmonious and peaceable World, for us all.    Quixotical?    Maybe so.    Impossible?    Maybe not.

Kids are in a pretty tough predicament:    politically powerless and no way to change it — no say at all in the shaping of Law that impacts them directly right now, Law that will rule and Debt that destroys their entire adult lives, while the generations who plundered their Earth, and lived lavishly by borrowing without permission from the present people’s futures, skip merrily off to the grave without paying it back not ever.

That kind of taxation without representation is lawful here, in our bastion of Democracy; those generations made or kept it so themselves, before the debtors they created could even vote.    Or even speak out.    Or even spark a twinkle in their loving parents’ eyes.    It was the Greatest Scam in World History, targeting their own posterity, bare-faced, before the eyes of the world.    And so, they got away with it.    And we still carry it on!

Kids can’t even vote for their own <ahem>✌🏻“apolitical”✌🏻 School Boards, imagine that.    I sure can’t.

There aren’t enough grownups with the will and the skill to fend effectually for our kids, yet, but the real <ahem>✌🏻“Greatest Generation”✌🏻 will be the one who stops scamming its own grandchildren, not the one who started it.    . . .    But, that’s another story.

So off he goes to govern, and back I come to powerless obscurity, completely baffled why this last big break didn’t work out either.    My first impression was very good; he said as much in writing.    With that, plus work ethic and ability literally dripping from my carefully handwoven 🦶🏻 letters, what could possibly go wrong?

But something did, but it could not possibly be 🦶🏻 me. There must be something wrong with that Governor Elect, or those advisors and functionaries, or with Government itself, or just plain something wrong with the whole warped world.    With all I have to offer it, 🦶🏻 why won’t it change for me and just be wonderful?

That governor elect knew I was smart and capable, and kind o’ quirky, and kind o’ owed me, and just ignored me, just ran off with my good ideas.    Ouch.

There’s plenty more where those came from; he’s throwing away a great opportunity, over what, some trivial quirk?    That’s crazy!

Who wants to work 🦶🏻 helping an idea-stealing fool like that anyway?   Not me.    Obviously this world didn’t want me; this wasn’t my first good impression inexplicably gone sour.    So . . . I gave up, on being a Children’s Advocate, altogether.    Gave it up.


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