So it occurred to me that the grumpiest of Bernie Sanders’ supporters remind me of little girls fantasizing about a prince on a white horse. And before you bring it up: I know that’s not fair.
It’s not fair to lump people together and make assumptions like that. And I don’t want the assumptions to be true. I sincerely hope there are not many young girls fantasizing about princes on white horses. Any color horses, really. I just get confused because you can’t go anywhere without seeing young girls all done up in frothy pink tulle and sequins because apparently everybody gets to be a princess now, and what the hell is that all about? As a girl, I couldn’t have imagined getting all dolled up like that, voluntarily. It was like your wretched Easter finest, squared. Polished shoes and anklets and petticoats. Honestly. The female condition, writ in starch.
I’m hoping for the best. I’m assuming the current princesses are some new variety that has special powers and interesting kingdoms and they’re not all waiting for their princes to ride up on their horses and save them from something. Everybody seems to know which princess is which because they represent particular movie franchises and although, yes, they’re still adorable and have big eyes and pert noses and trim bodies, they also have special skills and worthy aspirations, or something. I guess.
It’s all so different. We each roll out of the chute different, and I’ll just say for the record, the Murr seed sprang true from the get-go. I had no interest in dolls, let alone princesses. All I wanted was stuffed animals. I had 46 of them. Gronk the brontosaur was the largest, and Webster the ladybug was the smallest. Here’s the interesting thing. They were all males. Every one of them, except Mrs. Teddy Bear, who was a hand-me-down with a handed-down name and a rubber face and eyelashes painted on. I never played with her at all. I even called the whole collection “The Guys.”
Why were they all guys? Because girls never did anything interesting. Girls ended up being mommies. My own mommy was the best person ever, but I didn’t want to be one. In fact, I couldn’t even imagine what I would ever be. There wasn’t any choice but mommy or teacher or secretary or nurse. The Guys had business to run and things to do. Trumpet was President, Oashmeal was Vice President, Glump was Secretary, and there was no need for a treasurer. Funkhauser had a grocery store, Borgward published a newspaper, and Gronk was an accomplished poet. I left my own future casually unvisualized and blundered into adulthood during the Women’s Liberation Movement. I still didn’t know what I might do but at least nothing seemed off limits.
Anyway I can hardly believe that today’s girls feel so constrained, so I’m assuming the best of the princess thing. I’d like to think the best of the Bernie thing too. You can’t hang onto that prince on the white horse. I’m not saying Bernie’s not right. He’s 100% right. What he’s not is magical. He would have no power at all as President beyond the power he still has, the power to move us in the right direction, and try to get this ship turned around. And he can’t do that without us. He is us.