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G A B E H U D S O N ' S [Write a letter to the president.] - - - - [Gabe Hudson, a McSweeney's editor-at-large - - - - [These letters were compiled by Gabe Hudson, Jessica Rabinowitz, and Kevin Feeney.] - - - - Dear Mr. President, I was born in 1946. Both my parents served in the military during WWII. I spent my childhood expecting Armageddon (nuclear war, missiles raining down, everyone I love fried to a crisp). In my youth, there was Vietnam, the draft, the protests, the friends who never came home and, even worse, the ones who did. Despite a good education, I spent 40 years in stressful, thankless dead-end jobs. I've been fired and laid off and downsized. Now I am 59. I have no husband, no children, few relatives and even fewer true friends. My retirement funds are inadequate. Even if Social Security doesn't tank, I'll have to work into my 70s and hope my health holds up. I live under the shadow of terrorism, and the specters of poverty and old age are always with me. Quite frankly, I really don't need any more crap from you. Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, Have you ever noticed that every place in the world has a different smell? I smelled decaying marigolds and ash in India, rose-scented miracles and dried blood in El Salvador, and clear water running over mossy gnomes in Austria. I am from Texas, and our farm smells like hay bleached by August sun and pond water scattered with pine needles. This morning I opened my window at dawn and burned incense on the ledge. Now my apartment smells just a little bit like India. Perhaps not every place has a different smell. The suburbs all smell the same. And even worse than People Forgetting is that people are Beginning Not to Notice. What does the White House smell like? What does Baghdad smell like? Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, Is it embarrassing when people say "Hey, Mr. President!" and you turn around and say "Hey there!" and then it turns out that they where actually talking to a president of another country? Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, I am a man who seldom wears black shoes. I have friends who don't pay taxes. I've been arrested and seen the inside of a few jails. I've been in love and felt the wrath it leaves in its wake. I have driven across the country by myself, lost people I loved. I've questioned everything I saw and believed in what I found. There are other people like me and many more who are different. We all need you to work for us, with us, not against us. Please don't use us or force us to work for you. Listen to what feels right, not the group of men whispering in the background. I know you are a good man but fallible. If you make the best decision you can without having to mislead anyone or lie or prey on the weak, I'm OK with that. We all make mistakes. I know some of the people who put you in office and some who fought it, but you work for all of them. Remember that democracy survives in the idea or opinion you find most disgusting and the right for it to be voiced and heard. Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, The sun and the wind had made a wager. The wind said that he could blow a man's coat off. But the harder and colder he blew, the more tightly the man wrapped the coat around himself. After the wind gave up, the sun shone down. When the man didn't take his coat off right away, the sun mobilized a network of space-based particle-beam weapons, incinerating the offending coat and the man who had worn it. Isn't that a great story? Sincerely, - - - - [NOTE: The opinions expressed in these letters do not necessarily represent those of McSweeney's, Knopf, Vintage, Kevin Feeney, Jessica Rabinowitz, |
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