If you know me or read this blog, it’s pretty clear I have some pretty well-defined political views. It’s not something I ever hide from, and while it has led to being disciplined by a spineless superintendent in the Great White North, a few death threats, and some whacky responses from the world of trumpistanians, I pretty much limit my political expressions to my writing. I’m not a big yard sign guy (though they can be fun sometimes), and I rarely wear my views on my chest. Now and then, however, it just seems right to toss on a politically-themed t-shirt. I own three.
The one on the left arrived on my doorstep during the first trump administration. Coming out of President Obama’s second term, what was happening in Washington required a refuge built on some humor. The problem was most trumpistanians couldn’t figure it out, and only the liberals got to share in the joke. The one on the right just arrived at the house as we gear up for what will certainly be the most consequential election of my lifetime (and I’m old). I have yet to walk the neighborhood, but since I now live in a community where most people are kind and sensible people who care about our country, I expect I will mostly get nods, grins, and thumbs up.
The middle t-shirt I pull out once a year or so in support of the controversial position that we should stop shooting children in this country. I know, I know, there’s a significant percentage of our population who would like to shoot me for wearing this, but I’m not a kid, so they don’t bother.
When I wore it this year, I stopped into Meijer for an exhilarating shopping excursion and was greeted by a guy in the meat aisle who wanted to know what was wrong with me. I quickly checked to see if my zipper was down or if my shoes were on the wrong feet or if I had dropped a spoonful of yogurt down my chest. Or maybe I had wandered into Walmart by mistake. After a quick check it was comforting to know that all systems were on go.
I told him that I thought everything was ok and thanked him. He quickly replied, “No. That t-shirt.”
Crap.
“Well, it’s the only one I have, but if you give me your contact info, I’ll send you one.” Not surprisingly, he wasn’t amused. “Who do you think is going to protect you liberals from the real threats in this country? There is no more important right than the 2nd Amendment.”
If I could just reach around him for that rib-eye I had my heart set on, I could get out of there without making more of a scene. But alas, my head doesn’t really work that way, and my heart certainly doesn’t. “So tell me, what exactly are you afraid of that you think will be solved by someone with an automatic weapon?”
“Fear!” he snarled at me. “I ain’t afraid of anyone BECAUSE I own guns!”
“Fair enough” I said, “but who were you afraid of BEFORE you armed yourself?” (I started an internal clock on how quickly some racist trope would come spilling from his lips.”
It didn’t take long before I got a lecture on how dangerous parts of Lansing were and how you never know when “the wrong guy is going to wander into our neighborhoods.”
I sighed. I sighed again when a woman in a bathrobe snapped up my rib-eye. (Maybe I WAS in Walmart?) “Well, I really think I am willing to take that risk over having to wash more blood off the walls in another school. If there are guns around, someone’s going to die. I prefer it to be some dude afraid of his own shadow than another 20 kindergarteners.”
I tried to step around him to grab my second choice for a steak so I could leave, but he was having none of it. “You know as soon as we give up our guns, the government would have no reason to respect us. We’ll all be prisoners in our country. You need us to protect your freedoms.”
I had no more sighs left. “So you and your beer-swilling Fox News watching buddies are going to take up arms against the US government and you expect to win? It’s almost worth hoping your scenario plays out just to see how it goes. I mean thousands of you guys got shut down by some city police and security guards on January 6tth. How’s it going to go when you face off against the world’s largest military?”
I could see I had hit a nerve, and I was hoping at this point that he wasn’t going to hit back. Instead he simply said “At least my family will be safe. You? I don’t give a shit about you.” And he walked away.
I paused a moment to reflect on how much harder his life was than mine. How is it possible to function every day seeing threats from anyone who might be from the “wrong” Lansing neighborhood or from the very government that allows you to bear arms? That’s the thing, I realized. The right has made a fortune in both dollars and political capital scaring the crap out of those unwilling to see what a great country we COULD have if we honored our diversity and respected each other just a little bit more. Instead, they sow fear and limit the rights of anyone who doesn’t look or think like them (or has a vagina.)
Now where did that woman with my steak go?
The Grumblings 
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