Porter and George Bush have become pen pals. Imagine my dismay when I found out.
You’ll recall that I was worried about Porter’s actions earlier this fall, when I feared he was spying for the government. Now I have proof he’s gone even farther and is writing the President directly. So far the President’s correspondence hasn’t made him appear any smarter than his speeches or actions do.
Porter first wrote W. before Christmas. I was dimly aware of the activity but refused to encourage it. Bill was the one who located the stamp and wrote out the White House address for Porter to copy.
Dear President Bush When is your
Birthday? My Birthday
is August 14 I have a twin too.
Do you go for Auburn or Alabama?
I go for Auburn!
December, 19 2006
I’ll say one thing– George wasted no time mailing a reply. In fact, his spies were watching our house so closely that his answer was apparently typed before Porter’s note made it to the mailbox. Who says Bush is slow to react? Not the Glamores.
Although he addressed Porter by name, George exhibited one of his less admirable attributes in his letter. Rather than responding to the questions that Porter had painstakingly written on the page, he chose to tackle another topic completely and pretended that Porter had invited him to visit his school, despite the fact that nothing resembling such an invitation had been issued. I certainly don’t want to host the President and his entourage here. I can barely get the guest room clean for Aunt Lulu when she visits, and I like her.
Porter was crestfallen. I’m cynical and used to this administration reading documents and completely dismissing their contents. However, it’s one thing to disregard the Iraq Study Group’s recommendations and another thing entirely to ignore an eight-year-old’s simple questions. If possible, George’s treatment of my child made me dislike him even more. So which is it, Mr. President, Alabama or Auburn?
Porter’s initial huffiness was more easily remedied than mine, as President Bush had included a large photo of himself and Laura smiling beatifically into the distance.
Porter was so thrilled with the “personalized” note and photo that he wrote the President again.
Dear President Bush
You are a good Presid
ent and I thank
you are Doing great
Porter was extremely proud of this second missive and brought it into the bedroom one night as Bill and I were reading.
Bill read it and said, “Wow, you and the President are getting to be good friends, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Porter replied. “I never had a pen pal before but it’s fun to have a famous one. Do you think he’ll invite me to spend the night?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, because he’s really busy these days, but that would be cool if he did, wouldn’t it?” Bill asked.
“Cool, my ass,” I muttered into my New Yorker.
Bill handed me the note.
“That’s beautifully written, Porter,” I told him. “I definitely think you should send it. The President probably doesn’t hear such nice compliments very often.”
Porter took the note and came back a few minutes later with it addressed.
“Can you mail it for me, Mom?”
“I’ll be happy too,” I said half-heartedly, and then I kissed him good night.
Mailing the letter wasn’t at the top of my list of things to do, but it fell even further the day after the President’s State of the Union Address, when I came into the den and saw this:
I called Bill, who had watched the speech with Porter, and learned that Porter had set up a shrine of pictures and correspondence while he worshiped at the altar of bullshit and obfuscation.
I mailed the letter anyway. I suppose Porter has a lifetime to become disillusioned. It’s not a mother’s job to hasten the process.