If Only They Could Be Heroes

 Today is Presidents’ Day here in the US.

Last week, on Abraham Lincoln’s birthday, I ranted about how I believe it’s so unfair that, on this day, he has to share the spotlight with the likes of Warren G. Harding, Richard Nixon and the Fake Tan Fūhrer.

Speaking of whom: After a year of his second term, almost everything that came before it seems like lifetimes, even eons, ago. If you’ll indulge me a cliché, it seems like we were living in a different world just over a year ago.

Now, if you really want to see a different world, check this out:

Now, Bill Clinton isn’t my favorite President even if I voted for him twice.  But he was so many things FTF isn’t: intelligent, articulate and someone who, at least sometimes, tried to build a legacy that wasn’t only about himself. It’s hard to believe that he, his successor (George W. Bush) and FTF were born within the span of a few weeks in 1946.

What makes the photo seem even more like a glimpse into a vanished reality is the other person in it. Remember when Lance Armstrong was hailed as a hero? There were whispers about his use of performance-enhancing substances and how he bullied his teammates into covering for him. 

I am long past looking at athletes as heroes, or even role models, save for a few, like Simone Biles, I fully respect as people for their courage and integrity.  Would that we had such a President!

He Carries Roses. I See…

 Today is, of course, Valentine’s Day. 

Like many holidays that have been co-opted by capitalism, current celebrations seem to have little or no apparent relation to whom the day was originally dedicated. At least, almost no one is thinking of that person while sharing a romantic dinner or buying or giving cuddle toys, chocolates and roses.

(Call me sick or whatever you like, but when I see a dude walking down the street with a bouquet of roses, I can’t help but to think that within an hour and a half, a woman will be flat on her back.)

Anyway, St. Valentine was, according to at least one story, a priest or bishop who secretly married soldiers, in defiance of Emperor Claudius II, and aided persecuted Christians.  While imprisoned, he was said to have restored the sight of his jailer’s daughter and wrote her a letter signed, “From Your Valentine.”

That deed and others were deemed miracles, and were among the reasons why he was beatified. But his continued defiance of the emperor led to his execution in 270 CE, which the church saw as martyrdom and another factor in his canonization.

Now, I can understand making him the patron saint of lovers because he married those soldiers and showed his love (which some have speculated as, umm, not entirely Platonic) for the jailer’s daughter. But what any of that has to do with candy and flowers or candlelight dinners is beyond me.

In case you were wondering, I took a ride today—solo.  It was great.

Riding With Abe

 On this date in 1809, Abraham Lincoln, the 16th US President, was born. Even if biographies portray him as a better President or person than he actually was, I can imagine him spinning in his grave if he could see the current occupant* of the office and residence he graced.

When I was in elementary school, Lincoln’s birthday was a national holiday, as George Washington’s (22 February) was.  Now we have “Presidents’ Day,**” which will be observed on Monday.  

Given that he was assassinated in 1865, it’s unlikely that he mounted anything we would today recognize as a bicycle.  But it’s fun to speculate on what it might’ve looked like if he had:

* —I refuse to put the name of the White House squatter current occupant in the same sentence with Lincoln.  Abe doesn’t deserve that.

**—I hate the term because it implies that we are honoring all of them, including Andrew Jackson, James Buchanan,  James Polk, Millard Fillmore, Andrew Johnson, William McKinley, Warren G. Harding, Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush and you-know-who.