This isn’t going to be my most brilliant or sparkling post ever, but I can’t write about politics without writing about my father, whose views on the subject, for as long as I can remember, have been diametrically opposed to my own. We actually get along rather well despite the fact that he is a defense contractor and a devout Catholic who worships Jesus and Rush Limbo with equal gusto; I am a gay creative professional who voted for Ralph Nader.

Let’s call the whole thing off.

Seriously, we are on very good terms, but we argue a lot because we like to bait each other. Perhaps I inherited my love of righteous argumentation directly from him. I think he respects my opinions but feels they’re misguided. They aren’t, of course. They’re based upon verifiable facts, while his are based upon whatever figment of imagination the conservative talk show hosts are attempting to pass off as reality that day.

You can see that there is no middle ground.

Our debates probably shake me up a lot more than they do him. As soon as one begins (usually over email), I develop a tactical insomnia and lie awake all night thinking about how I will respond to his latest outrageous assertion. My condition of generalized anxiety increases to the point that I can barely unclench my jaw or fists. All my life, my father has been the most intelligent and moral person I knew. It is devastating to my system to challenge his authority, even though I know he’s wrong. Or maybe he’s not exactly wrong . . . maybe the paradigm he inhabits simply has no bearing on the real world. I blame this on the disregard for facts that culminated in (and now flows from) the administration of our National Embarrassment.

It’s funny . . . we vehemently disagree about so much (including the superiority of Apple computers, which I wasn’t even aware was debatable), but I still look up to him and want him to be proud of me. He is a great father, a wonderful and generous person, and his example has taught me so much in life. Maybe his ultimate achievement is that he helped me become intelligent enough to confront him on these issues.

Or maybe he wishes he drowned me at birth. One never knows.