Hail to the Sonny Boy (and then things get weird)

I'm not sure where to go with this, but Memorial Day starting me thinking about my dad (see below) and that started me thinking about fathers and sons and *that* suddenly -- oh the mystery of association -- led me to the following:

Obama is my first "son" president. That is, he's the right age to be my son. Bush and Clinton were my "brother" presidents, which made me dislike the former more and the latter less -- with Clinton there would always have been girls to spare. First Bush, Reagan and beyond were all "dad" presidents, and that connects up with a different set of approving and disapproving, resentment and attraction.

That is perhaps part of the reason I find it hard to criticize Obama even when I disagree with him and think he isn't doing exactly what he promised. Not having any actual kids -- and I cannot add "that I know of" -- I'm not sure if my feelings are typical. I mean, my dad refused to be as proud of me as he should have been. But I look at Obama, and I think: damn, what a fine young man.

We shall see what this goes, this thinking of him as a gawky adolescent who's finally grown into his length and the size of his feet. But it's true. Right now he's my metaphorical sonny boy.

And now *for some unfocused irony*. I had never seen the movie, nor the clip from the movie until I went searching for a nice illustration for the preceding.

But this is a blog: no turning back.