A few of the more emotive, touching letters here on the bright, competent and transformative incoming administration got me thinking about Family and particularly about the strength, homeostasis, and defenses in American families. I’m not sure why, maybe partly because I hear all about families on a regular basis, from the experiences of children who later become both chemically dependent and seriously mentally ill:

“He’s ‘papa’ to me. He’s a wonderful, sweet man. Only four or five times. Once in the mouth. With his fist. Another time he ripped my robe off, I ended up out in a field. The police got called, but mom and dad kept them out of it. She lied, she hid it. She needed him. He always provided for us. He lies to me. I love my Dad.”

Family is so important. They need each other, protect each other, lie for each other, blind themselves to lies, violence, and abuse in order to stick together, bonded out of fear and out of deficits in testing reality, in coping with reality, and in making real changes, afraid to grow up and let go.

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There is a big Family in Washington D.C. Our big American Family.

There’s gonna be change this time. Mom and Dad keep saying so. They reach out to work with each other, to forgive and make compromises. They need each other. He’s a bright man. Dad keeps the Law out of it, that could tear our family apart. We can all be civil. We don’t talk about the lies and violence. Give him a chance. Those lies and betrayals, Dad running with those war-makers, criminal guys and thieves? That doesn’t mean anything. You’ll see. Dad giving the green light to all those people being killed over there in the Middle East somewhere? That’s not the Dad we know. He just wants to protect us. Just wait, you’ll see.

Dad’s smart as can be, that’s what we all say. When Mom talks about how smart Dad is and I picture his strong, handsome face, I get a shiver. I forget all about his broken promises and the criminal friends and war-makers he cuts deals with. He’s going to stop fighting and gambling with our money. He’s telling the truth now. He just needs another chance. He’s smart and hardly misses a Sunday taking us to church. We need to work together, stick together. That’s practical and we hear it from pastor Rick in our church. I believe them all and trust them. We need each other. We’re a big American Family.

Like, maybe Heather is actually ANGRY and that’s OK?

And maybe it’s a lot easier and safer to displace that anger at a TV series for “failing” you and even at your loyal readers, rather than aiming it at what you are actually angry at? Like at the new, hope-inspiring transformative super-smart Leader you actually trusted enough to invest your hopes and ideals in, and who turned out to be a vaudeville act, a cynical, frightened, militarist establishment hack crewing-up with war criminals, homophobes, and free-market misanthropes? Overtly expressing that anger would be a little too raw, too painful, too “OK, we got burned.”

So, there is the male sell-out stand-in to displace the anger at:

and you go with crazed former fans like yourself. After the second prequel, you walk out wanting to kick [ ] in the teeth and tell him to wake up, finally, and take a long, hard look at that old, fat guy in the mirror and ask himself, "Did I fail?" Because it's obvious that he never asks himself that, and that is where he fails! Can't he try a little harder to get the magic back?

And then there’s this, the healthy underlying drive to hold onto hope after betrayal:

But even if this episode were a little more hopeful -- "Maybe we can rebuild here anyway!" -- only to have things fall to pieces in the next episode, that would be better.

Letting go is never easy, but can be liberating.

Going down

In a spiral

To the ground

Blinding change

Blinding us

Spinning heads

Delirious

The Folk are entertained, a needed and soothing distraction from the killings they must carry on, in Iraq, in Gaza, in Afghanistan, and wherever New Leader sees an enemy.