Ever since T named the smallest backyard bunny Herbert, I’ve been thinking about my grandfather, whose name was Herbert but who always went by the nickname “Bud.” Bud was a lifelong democrat and Union man and today, Labor Day, it seems fitting to pause and think of him.
He was a mechanic who could fix nearly anything and helped teach me to drive a stick shift car (and parallel park virtually anything). He liked a cold beer (or two or three) but never drank Coors, because Joseph Coors was a Union-busting, Republican-supporting millionaire and Bud was not a forgiving man on that front. He despised Republicans, and I have an ever-lasting memory of him laughing when Nancy Reagan fell at the 1984 GOP convention. He’d been recording the convention (!) and later on enjoyed rewinding to drop Nancy a few more times.
My Uncle David liked to harass Bud about politics and it could get heated when Dave would claim to be a Reagan-loving Republican man. Such notions received little tolerance in Bud’s house and much like his wife would quiz newcomers to the family about their stance on the death penalty (she was opposed), he judged your intelligence and virtue based on your party registration.
These days, as Trump exploits the working man and our nations widening tolerance for racism, I think of my grandparents a great deal. They would have been horrified by the rise of such politics and I suppose that says a lot about me and my family. Our blood runs Democratic blue all the way and on this Labor Day I am grateful for that inheritance.
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