This weekend is Father’s Day, and I’d like to give a shout out, to all the dads out there, yeah, but actually I’m thinking of one dad in particular: Mitt Romney. I still can’t believe he lost that election back in 2012. We were so naïve, so full of optimism, firm in the belief that America was about to be taken back by real Americans, with a real President we could have all looked up to.
And yeah, life goes on, America continues its downward spiral while we all try our best to keep our spirits up and our heads held high. But every once in a while I’ll wake up and I’ll be consumed by that awful feeling, radiating outward from the core of my being. It hits me all at once, the constant realization that Romney didn’t win hits hard, that we’re all stuck with this fake President, jeez, the communist, I don’t even want to write his name down, maybe centuries from now, if we avoid talking about him or writing it out, perhaps we can all forget, I mean, so far he hasn’t left any significant marks on history at all. But still, I get really down, thinking about how we’re all marching toward inevitable socialist dystopia, and the only thing that cheers me up is pretending that Mitt Romney won.
And so I think about how days like Father’s Day would be even more special if Mitt Romney were President. He’d be like America’s father, and, as Americans, maybe we’d all get to pretend that Mitt Romney is our collective father.
And Mitt’s a cool guy, he’d go along with it. Maybe he’d start a lottery every year, he’d pick one lucky American to be whisked away and dropped off at the White House. For that Father’s Day, the winner of the lottery would actually get to be Mitt Romney’s sixth son (or first daughter) for the whole day. In my fantasies, I’m the winner, and the Romney administration prints out a whole bunch of official government documents to make the whole event really convincing. Like a new driver’s license, one that says, Rob Romney, and he’d hand it to me, President Mitt, he’d give me the firmest handshake I’ve ever had and he’d say, “Welcome to the family, son.”
We’d head straight to the front lawn of the White House and there’d be all of Mitt’s other sons, they’d all be playing catch. One of them would call out to me, “Hey brother! This one’s for you!” and he’d throw me a glove, a really nice one, it would be inscribed “Rob Romney’s Mitt”, and then Mitt would shout out, “Son! Head’s up!” and the Pres would toss me a wild fly ball. I’d have to run, maybe even dive. It would be really close, but I’d still catch it.
Huh, I’d think to myself, I would’ve thought that, seeing as how he’s raised five sons, maybe Mitt would’ve been a little better at throwing pop-ups. But then he’d look at me with that crazy Romney smile, and I’d realize that he threw it like that on purpose, he made me reach down inside, run for that ball, dive for it. That’s the Romney way, doing things for yourself, no help from anybody, certainly not the government. And as this lesson dawns upon me, I’d look back at my new dad and he’d be laughing and smiling, “That’s right son!” he’d know that I learned a valuable lesson about hard work and entitlement, “You earned it! You earned that catch!”
Because being Mitt Romney’s sixth son won’t be easy. Nothing in life is. Nothing worth Romneying for, anyway. We’d spend the rest of the day laughing, we’d roughhouse a little, nothing too serious, just a bunch of knuckleheads, me, the President, my five new brothers, and we’d be causing a huge ruckus, laughing, giving each other noogies, and my new mom Mrs. Romney would be standing at the base of the stairs shouting, “Boys! Boys stop this at once!” before giving up, laughing at us, her boys, her seven boys having a wild time, and she’d say something like, “Oh boys!”
But Romney lost. And now he’ll never be my dad. Mitt, if you ever read this, I hope you have a great Father’s Day. If I ever gain access to a time machine, I promise to do everything in my power to try and alter the timeline so that you emerge victorious against the fascist. I love you – can I call you dad? Just right now? Just pretend? I love you dad. I’m sorry you’re not President. If all of the fathers in the world got together to elect a president of all fathers, a Father President, I’m almost positive you’d be elected, and not the other guy.