I’ve always been a bit of a baby.
People who have been around me when I’m sick will tell you how I’m likely to behave as if this is the big one, this is it, this is how I die. Remember that show “Sanford and Son,” where Redd Foxx would mock having a heart attack to avoid a sticky situation or get his son Lamont to bend to his will?
He’d put his hand to his chest and stumble around while looking to his wife in heaven and say, “This is the big one! You hear that Elizabeth? I’m coming to join you soon!”
So I was sick this week. Worst sore throat I’ve ever had. Well, one of the worst. I was eating ibuprofen and Tylenol like Skittles. Even tried some of that throat spray. (Pro tip: It doesn’t work … at least it didn’t work on a baby such as myself.)
I took Wednesday off. After dealing with a pair of dogs who rarely seem to care when you’re not exactly excited about addressing their needs, such as their “need” to be let outside, or their “need” for food, I plopped down on the couch and prepared to watch some quality tube.
Then it hit me: It was Mueller time!
Have you been following the news? (Curious question to pose to readers of a newspaper, I know, but one can never assume, right?) Robert Mueller, the former FBI Director who has been serving as special counsel, was about to “tell all” about his investigation into the Trump campaign’s connections with Russian ne’er-do-wells, or so Democrats hoped. So, with a beagle at the end of the couch and a chihuahua on my lap, I settled in for what would prove to be a rather dull day of commercial-free politicking.
Which reminded me of the last time I felt this sick. It was Sept. 27, to be exact. Do you remember that day? You do. You might not think you do … but you do. I was suuuuuuper sick that day. If it hadn’t been for some heroic antibiotics and sheer force of will, I’d for sure be dead right now. (Nausea, body aches, fever; virtually any symptom you can name was taking place within my body that day … Or maybe I’m being dramatic. Anyway, I digress.) Like I did on my sick day this week, Sept. 27 started with me plopping down on my couch and turning on CNN.
Now, unlike this week’s theatrics, what I was about to watch last fall was anything but dull. Because that was the day we were all introduced to one of the bravest humans on the planet: Christine Blasey Ford. Remember that name? Of course you do. If you’re a member of a certain political party, she was painted a hero, a martyr, a human of uncommon courage. If you’re a member of that party’s opposition, she was painted a demon, a liar, a pawn of Antifa or the Deep State ... or both! Yipes!
Chances are you haven’t thought much about Ms. Ford. This is what happens in our country these days. Events that are seismic in nature, events that halt the ADHD news cycle in its tracks, events that change the DNA of our collective identity simply fade away because our attention is more in line with Wham-O (maker of the Frisbee, the Slip ‘N Slide and the Superball) than the Washington Post.
With every radical tweet from the president, with every new daily political scandal, with the national media’s nomadic coverage of earth-shaking news events, — even titanic feats of bravery get lost. And that’s sad.
This woman — like any woman who steps forward, with nothing to gain personally, to call out misogyny — deserves better than to have her sacrifice be forgotten. She deserved better than to be used and left behind when her tragedy was no longer good TV.
So that’s all this is. A reminder to, well, not forget.
It should be noted that a recently published book calls into question the predominant media narrative on Christine Blasey Ford. While most of the reporting found her to be a slightly quirky and professorial academic with “beach friends,” and her courtroom demeanor was unassuming, shy and reluctant, the book reportedly paints a portrait of her as an often-drunk and sexually promiscuous high school student.
It should also be noted that, while the authors reportedly spoke with more than 100 people, none of them would allow their names to be used, the authors said, because “hostility to Kavanaugh made them fear for their livelihood if their names were attached to the stories.”
Which leaves us with exactly one person from that time brave enough to stand up and tell the truth, and normal enough to be forgotten.