The Morning Assault

Wake up. Start coffeemaker. Turn on TV. A panicky news journalist is saying America is doomed and only minutes away from exploding. And if not America, at least my house. 

Turn off TV. 

Coffee is ready. Pour said coffee. Check my phone. Look at emails. The first subject line attracts my attention. “YOU ARE NOT A TRUE AMERICAN IF YOU DON’T READ THIS!!!” 

I want to be a true American, but for the next few minutes I’ll have to settle for being a fallacious one. Namely, because it’s a little early to be reading anything in all caps. 

Sip coffee. Massage eyeballs. Leash up dogs. Take them outside for morning walks. It’s still dark.

My dog doesn’t want to pee. So we walk in tight, concentric circles through the neighborhood as I whisper-shout, “Go pee!” As though these two words have ever helped a canine successfully urinate within the long and noble history of dogdom. 

I check my phone. To give my dog privacy. Hop on social media. My newsfeed is nothing but politics. What ever happened to cute kitty videos? 

The first post I see shows the picture of an American flag covered in mud, or perhaps it's a more organic substance. The first words are: “PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR MIND TOTALLY FREAKING BLOWN AMERICA!” 

The user who shared the brain blasting patriotic item is my childhood Sunday school teacher. A woman whose wardrobe once consisted entirely of polyester. Her profile picture is a bald eagle wearing a bikini. 

Soon, I am walking through a dark neighborhood near my house. My dog is sniffing the millions of locations where other dogs peed. I’m encouraging my dog to leave her mark on this world so we can go back home. 

Surrounding me are yard signs galore. There must be hundreds, perched in everyone’s yards. Each sign has some urgent message. Some political aphorism or watchword, printed in bold letters. A few of them have cusswords. 

Signs are all around me. Like I’m walking through a red-white-and-blue Times Square. I actually find one sign I agree with. The sign is huge, adorned in stars and stripes, and it reads: 

“I’M NOT RUNNING FOR ANYTHING, I JUST WANTED A SIGN IN MY YARD.”  

Dog finally pees. We go back home. I’m checking my phone again because it notified me that I had an urgent private message. 

The direct message comes from a coworker I haven’t seen in decades. We aren’t friends in real life, but he insists on sending me important American videos. Usually these are political ads which require a bottle of Maalox after watching.

Today, however, the video was entitled, “CUTE KITTY ON TRAMPOLINE.” 

There is a God.