It is for me, at least. I did well on my paper. 97/100; I lost 3 points for some blah blah blah whatever thing; run-on sentences, I think. What? Ridiculous. My grammar is impeccable and my sentence structure is beyond reproach. Well, my grammar is good, anyway. Usually.
One paper finished, one more due on November 30, then a week more until the final. Right now, I’m up to my neck in the Carter White House, and that’s not as much fun as it sounds. Jimmy Carter didn’t even like it that much, and really, all of 1980 sucked for him. There’s my title: “The Carter White House in 1980: One Damn Thing After Another.” My thesis statement is “Seriously, how much did THAT guy wish he’d just stayed in Georgia? Right? Right?”
I remember feeling sorry for Carter when I watched the first Reagan inauguration. Yes, I did. I was 15, and I had the flu and bronchitis and was too sick to get up off the couch for a few days. Even my dad, who was not noted for coddling sick children, didn’t accuse me of malingering. Not much, anyway. So I watched the entire day on TV, with alternating coverage of the swearing-in and parade, and the hostages’ release. Carter looked one hundred years old. Even my 15-year-old self could tell the difference between the way Jimmy Carter looked old and the way everyone over 30 looked old.
My dad commented on it, too. He came home at 3:30 that day, as usual, and after telling me that I could AT LEAST sit up, he knows I’m sick, but REALLY, I wasn’t DYING or anything, said that he couldn’t believe that anyone could age that much in four years. Then, pointing to Reagan, he said “that guy’s going to outlaw unions (my dad was a UAW shop steward) and have us at war with Russia by Memorial Day”. Suffice to say that not every working-class Irish Catholic was a “Reagan Democrat”. He often threatened to vote for Gus Hall, mostly because it was an easy way to rile up my mother and grandparents. He actually almost never bothered to vote at all, so I don’t know why I always think of him when I think about politics or when election season comes around. And I don’t know how this post got from paper-writing to dad-reminiscence, but no one’s grading this (and I suspect that no one’s still reading it either), so emphatic organization can go right to hell.