The Prodigal Grandson

September 27, 2009

An outhouse exterior
Image via Wikipedia

Call it a combination of growing up in a yellow dog Republican district and watching the Vietnam protests on TV..  But when Nixon resigned in disgrace a couple months before my eighteenth birthday, there was no way I was going to register Republican.

However, when I moved to a heavily Democratic district there was no way I could stand being one of them either.  It was like choosing between the candidate who smelled like a desert outhouse vs. the one who smelled like a manure wagon.

What my grandfather said years ago was so true.  Politicians all have one thing in common.

“They’re all crooks!”

Nevertheless he was like the rest of my family.  He was a loyal Republican.

Much to their chagrin I wanted nothing to do with it.  For most of my adult life I’ve remained an independent with no party affiliation.

However, that is about to change.  The stakes are much higher now.  I’d rather vote for a corrupt Republican who understands what we’re up against in the war against Islamic extremism, than a clean Democrat who’d rather sing Kumbaya with OBL.

So it may only be a symbolic gesture since many of the local races are decided during the democratic primary, but that’s alright.  I’m registering Republican.  We’ll save their Democratic outhouse lovin’ fannies too.

And that noise you hear coming from a cemetary in Green Valley Arizona is my grandfather exclaiming,

“It’s about time!”

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