Mrs. America and Mr. Bush

When I lived in the Caracas barrio of Nueva Tacagua, I had a neighbor, Mrs. America. Yes, that was her name, Señora América. I think she might have been in her forties or fifties but she appeared to be in her late nineties. She was also crazy. I am looking at a photo of her taken by a friend, Ed Gerlock. She is sitting on a huge rock, cradling one of her granddaughters in her arms with a dog sleeping alongside. But if you had been there on another occasion you might have snapped her throwing rocks with all her might at other little children who were making fun of her. Or, if you had been one of my neighbors, you might have seen her the moment when she walked out of her shack naked and screaming because she was angry with her daughter, Carmen.
But Mrs. America’s life changed one day when another missionary, Jim Sweeney, convinced some nuns that they should take her into their home for the elderly. A month later, Mrs. America’s personality had completely changed. No drugs. No medicine. Food. That’s what did it. Food.
I think of Mrs. America often when I read about people doing strange things. Is it possible that they are not eating well? And, recently I have been thinking about her when I read about the man who speaks for the United States, a man we might call Mr. America, President George W. Bush.
When I consider all the wacky, cruel and strange decisions of the past few years, I have to wonder what do George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Condoleezza Rice, Donald Rumsfeld and the rest of the company eat? I doubt that they do not get enough food, but are they getting proper food?
I’ve gone through a series of reflections on what might be the cause of their behavior. Is it possible that God left something out of their brains? Or, could all of their mothers have dropped them on their heads in infancy in exactly the same place? Might the bottled water that they drink have too much iron in it and there has been some rusting of their mental pipes?
I considered all these ideas and many more, but somehow I like the lack-of-proper-diet-theory best.
How to cure the problem? Jim Sweeney can’t help us. He was killed in an automobile accident in the Washington D.C. area in 1993 while working for Senator Tom Harkin. It is a shame that Jim isn’t still alive in Washington. Maybe he could find some nuns to cook for the White House. But President Bush and his team could cure themselves, I believe, if they wanted to do so.
All they would have to do is enter the real world of the ordinary people. Have meals with the rest of society instead of staying in their own country club. Listen to what people are saying within the U.S. and outside of it.
O.k. I’m dreaming. It’s not going to happen, I know. But I wish it would.
I end with a prayer: Mrs. America, wherever you are, some nuns cured your craziness with food. Could you ask God for some remedy for Mr. America? I still believe in miracles. Amen.
Charles Hardy is author of a forthcoming book on Venezuela to be published by Curbstone Press. Other essays by Hardy can be found on his personal blog Cowboyincaracas.com . You may write him at cowboyincaracas@yahoo.com.

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