Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Benjamin Enters the Fray


Biwi snickered as I stumbled over a giant box of crayons on the kitchen floor, zooming his camera in for an extreme close-up of my face. As I reached out to grab hold of a chair to keep myself from falling, I noticed that the floor was covered by a large assortment of Teds hunched over several open boxes of crayons, a rainbow of colored pens, reams of colored construction paper, plastic scissors, white glue, clear glue, glue sticks, and various other implements of artistic intent.

“Does your mother know you’re doing all of this?” I inquired.

“’Course she does,” Benjamin responded, looking up from the poster he was working on.

“I take it you’re responsible for organizing this?” I said, indicating the whole topsy-turvy floor with a sweep of my free hand.

“As usual, yes,” Benjamin answered. “I’m always in charge of all the important stuff,” he added pompously.

“Then I presume you realize you will also be held accountable for cleaning everything up once you’ve finished whatever it is you are engaged in? Including any stray crayon marks and other unintended consequences of arming so many Teds with markers of mass destruction?” I countered.

“Oh…yeah…well, I’m sure we’ll get it all cleaned up when we’re done,” he hedged.

“Don’t worry, Daddola,” chimed in Brighton, “I’ve already got the clean-up committee organized. Mack’s the chair.”

“I am heartened to hear that the clean-up is in such good paws. I can now be certain that this room will be spick-and-span by the time your mother has to get in here and start cooking dinner,” I told her.

“By the way, Benjamin, what are you all working on so diligently?” I further inquired.

“My campaign,” he replied, puffing himself up even more with pride.

“Campaign?” I asked. “What campaign?”

“Really, Dad, you should keep up with current events more,” he admonished me. “My campaign for the presidency.”

“Presidency?” I managed to rather inanely repeat. “I thought you had already been elected to the presidency of Teddy Bear College.”

“Not that presidency,” he corrected me, not without some asperity. “The presidency.”

The…?” I couldn’t help but founder.

“Of the United States!” he nearly shouted. “I’m running for President of the United States of America!”

“But we already have a president,” I objected, even more confused than before, if that were possible, which I suppose it was, because I definitely was more confused.

“I guess you could say that,” he said dismissively. “I’m getting ready for the next election. After I’m elected, I’m going to be a real president.”

“What’s wrong with our current president?” I wondered.

“The same thing’s wrong with all our other presidents,” was Benjamin’s ready answer. “They never do what they say they’re gonna do when they’re running for election.”

“They don’t?” I asked, surprised.

“’Course not,” he responded, clearly disgusted with my naiveté. “They promise whatever they think will get them elected, and then once they’re elected, they do whatever they want, which is usually totally different from what they promised.”

“Do you really think that’s true?” I asked.

“Sure. Look at the Republicans,” he suggested. “They promised heaven on earth, and ended up giving us pure hell.”

“Hmm, well, you’ve got me there,” I agreed. “But what about the Democrats? Surely, they’re more trustworthy than the slimy Republicans.”

“Oh, you think so?” he sneered. “They promised everything would change, but then nothing changed. So that’s just like the Republicans, only the Democrats promised us everything and ended up giving us nothing.”

“I’m afraid I have to concede your point on that one, too,” I admitted reluctantly.

“I should think so,” he huffed. “I’ve put a lot of thought into all of this over the years. I’ve waited and waited for the politicians to come to their senses and do the right thing. Finally, though, I realized they don’t have any senses to come to. So I decided it’s time somebody showed them how to do it right, and that somebody is me. So I’m throwing my hat into the ring.”

“I didn’t know you weared a hat, Benjamin,” Itsy exclaimed, peeking down at Benjamin on the floor from where she stood, towering above him from on top of the table.

“I only wear it on special occasions,” he retorted. “It’s…oh, for heaven’s sake,” he interrupted himself, “that’s just an expression. It means….”

“I hate ‘spreshuns!” Itsy told him indignantly.

“Yes, yes, we’re all quite aware of your aversion to expressions,” he sighed, dismissing her objection. “This one simply means that I am adding my name to the list of candidates for the presidency.”

“You coulda just said that in the first place,” Itsy informed him before disappearing from sight.

“OoOh!” he grumped. Brighton put her arms around him, and soothed him with a kiss on the cheek.

Trying to get the conversation more or less back on track, I asked Benjamin, “What’s your campaign slogan going to be?”

“We’re still working on that,” he confided. “So far we’ve got a couple of possibilities. I kind of like, ‘Let’s Get It Right This Time.’”

“That’s not too bad,” I temporized, “although it reminds me a little of Obama’s ‘Change We Can Believe In.’”

“That’s the idea, but
we’re implying we’ll make the right changes,” he noted.

“It never hurts to denigrate the opposition, I suppose,” I mused.

“’Specially if you can do it in a underhanded way,” he said.

“I see you really do have the makings of a master politician,” I stroked him. “What other possible slogans have been suggested?”

“Well, there’s, ‘A Warm and Fuzzy White House,’” he offered, “or maybe a rhyming slogan like, ‘A Hug and a Kiss Would Not Be Amiss’ or perhaps something more direct, like, ‘Keep It Stuffed, Sweetheart!’ Get it?”

“Couldn’t miss it,” I nearly groaned. “Look, your slogans seem to be on the right track, but what kind of platform are you offering?”

“Oh, we’ve got a sure-fire platform!” he enthused.

“Okay, lay it on me,” I said, inwardly squinching.

Benjamin crooked his head to one side and looked at me suspiciously, “Are you inwardly flinching?” he demanded.

“Who, me? Flinch? Inward? Never,” I replied. That was the truth, too. Well, I hadn’t been flinching, inwardly or not. I’d been squinching. So what if they mean the same thing. The point was…well, the point was that I didn’t want to tell Benjamin what I had been doing inwardly. So I didn’t.

To distract him, I told him, “I’m eager to hear your platform. I’m extremely keen to hear more. Please do enlighten me.”

“Well,” he hesitated, but for only a millisecond, “first off, of course, we’re going to do away with all taxes. No more taxes!”

“That’ll be a real vote-getter, that’s for sure,” I admitted. “But how are you going to pay for all of the government programs? How are you going to pay for the military? And, more to the point, how are you going to pay your own salary?”

“Easy!” he assured me. “We’re going to hold fun raisers! Every day! 24 hours a day. We’re going to have fun raisers 24/7! Isn’t that brilliant?”

“Magnificent,” I agreed. “Truly boffo.”

“Plus we’re going to print more money, with pictures of famous Teddy bears on it. So there’ll be lots of money coming in. But there’s more,” he continued. “We’re going to abolish war!” he proudly declared.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” I said. “But, umm, what happens when countries have a disagreement and they’re unable to reach an agreement even after extensive peace talks? How are they going to settle them?”

“Oh, we’re doing away with peace talks, too,” he told me. “They don’t work all that good anyway. No, we’re going straight to the games.”

“Games?” I asked, puzzled.

“Sure,” he reassured me. “Each country involved will get to pick a sport or whatever kind of game they like, and then the countries’ll have their champions play each other in those games. Whoever wins the majority of the games, wins the argument. Couldn’t be simpler.”

“No, it certainly couldn’t,” I had to once again agree. “Do you have any other planks in your platform?”

“Yeah, we’re going to put a Teddy in every home!” he told me.

“Well, that’s certainly going to be a popular plank,” I said.

“And the great thing is that then we’ll be able to keep an eye on everybody in the country,” he revealed.

“Keep an eye on…?” I stammered, dumbfounded.

“Sure!” he crowed. “We already know human beans can’t be trusted to keep out of trouble on their own. They need help from us Teds. So all Teds will be reporting to Birnie about what their human beans are doing. Birnie’s going to be head of my secret service, the BIA. That way, if anybody gets out of line, Birnie and Biwi can give them a good talking to and make sure they straighten up and fly right.”

“Straighten up and fly…,” I continued to splutter, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“Human beans have been screwing things up for too long,” Benjamin averred. “It’s long past time somebody took charge and made them shape up. Who better to do that than Teddy bears?”

“Umm, well,….” What could I say? “What if the voters don’t like the idea of the government watching their every move?”

“Why should they object?” he wanted to know. “The government’s already doing it. We’re just going to do it better is all. Plus, we don’t have to tell them that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll just tell them they’ll get a free Teddy once we get elected.”

“Isn’t that a little underhanded?” I asked. Or is that “underpawed”? I wondered to myself.

“So? That’s how you do it,” he assured me. “You tell ‘em what they want to hear and don’t tell ‘em what they don’t want to hear.”

“You certainly do seem to have this politician thing down pat,” I acknowledged. “But aren’t you going to have a tough time carrying out all of your promises once you’re elected?”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” he poo-pooed. “Once you get elected, you don’t have to worry about all of that. Forget all your promises. Once you’re in, you’re the one in charge, and you can do whatever you want.”

“Uh, isn’t that the kind of thing that made you want to run for election in the first place – to do away with false promises?” I asked.

“Not really,” he corrected me. “I want to get elected, so I can run this country the way it should be run. You have to tell everybody what they want to hear to get elected because they’re just a bunch of human beans. They’re confused. They don’t really know what’s good for them and the country.”

“And you do?” I wondered.

“’Course!” he exclaimed. “That’s why I’m running! Once I get into office, I’ll whip this country into shape in no time!”

“I’m sure,” I said noncommittally. In an effort to change the subject somewhat, I asked, “So what are you going to call your party?”

“We’re still in the early stages on that,” he informed me. “Kippy suggested the Bull Moose Party because that’s what Teddy Roosevelt called his party when he ran for a third term. But I don’t think that works. We don’t even have any stuffed moose in our party yet. Besides, that party lost.”

“Good point,” I said.

“Yeah, so we’re trying to find a name that will appeal to the masses, if you know what I mean,” he confided.

“I think I’m beginning to get the picture,” I said.

“Right now I’m kind of leaning toward either the ‘Warm and Fuzzy Party’ or the ‘Par-dee Party,’” he said.

“Well, they both have a certain appeal,” I assured him, crossing the fingers of my free hand behind my back.

Just then, “Ka-WHOOMPF!” Itsy’s cannon sounded, and an even more terrible racket arose from the hallway behind me, sounding rather like Spike Jones on drugs. Turning around I saw a little line of Teds marching into the kitchen, with Itsy proudly leading the way (with her bonnet either set at a jaunty angle or just as askew as ever) pulling her cannon behind her. Immediately behind her marched Lily-pop blowing enthusiastically, if tunelessly, on a party horn. Behind Lily-pop strode Waldo loudly and wildly unrhythmically beating on a toy drum, while Sparkie brought up the rear, unsteadily bearing a big sign with “Itsy for Prinzess, Kween, Kink, and Impress” scrawled across it in a hallucinogenic rainbow of colors.

The noise was so loud I could barely hear Benjamin exclaim, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” behind me. However, it was somewhat easier to then hear him shriek at the top of his little warm-and-fuzzy lungs, “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to make me lose the election? You can’t run for the presidency, too! That’ll just play into the hands of the opposition by splitting the vote!”

Itsy started to answer him, “I ain’t….”

But he interrupted her to complain, “What? I can’t hear you!”

Deciding she was too far away from him, she marched over to him until she stood right under his snout, and tried again, “I ain’t run….”

“What? I still can’t hear you!” he yelled. “Your band is too loud! Can’t you tell them to put a lid on it?”

“We don’t got a lid!” Itsy yelled back. “We….”

Trying to forestall another round of bickering between the two of them, and at the same time keep my eardrums from bursting and my nose from starting to bleed copiously, I reached down and gently removed the horn from Lily-pop’s paws and the drumsticks from Waldo’s. The cacophony ceased immediately, returning blessed quiet to the room.

“I’ll return these to you later,” I assured them, “should you want to practice some more outside. All musical practicing shall from this day forth be done outside, far from the house, preferably deep within the woods if you can manage it. You certainly need have no fear of wild animals attacking you while you’re making such, um, glorious ‘euphony’ together.”

“Okay,” Itsy agreed. “But we’re gonna make music together, too.”

“Oh, quite,” was all I could think to say to that.

“And it won’t be any phony kinda music neither,” she corrected me.

“Of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sheesh, today was certainly a day for disinformation.

Meanwhile, Benjamin had apparently decided to take a more tempered and diplomatic approach. Putting on his best smilely face, he addressed her softly and gently, “Look, Itsy, sweetheart,” he began, oil dripping metaphorically from every pore – you couldn’t help but admire just how much of a politician he was turning out to be, “this isn’t the time for bickering. After all, we’re not Democrats. We Teds need to stick together. United we stand, and all that.”

His whole performance was so unlike him that even Itsy had to stand mutely and marvel. Either that, or she was wondering if some weird spirit or demon was inhabiting Benjamin’s body, kind of like George W getting his strings pulled by Cheney. Whatever her reasons, she let him blather on for now.

“The only way we’re going to get our paws inside the White House is to work together. You can see the sense in that, can’t you?” he implored. Wisely, he chose not to give her the opportunity to respond, but plunged ahead with his desperate appeal, “I’m sure we can pool our resources and come out an even stronger and more viable force on the political scene than we already are.

“Here’s what I suggest we do. Let’s run together on the same ticket! I’ll run for president just like I was planning to. After all mean, I’m the stronger candidate at the moment. I have more name recognition than you, right now anyway, what with me just coming off my address to the United Nations and everything. Once I, er, we, get elected, though, you’ll get lots more publicity, and your name recognition will sky rocket. I can’t make you Vice President because Brighton’s going to be that. I can’t make you Secretary of State either because Biwi’s going to be that. I could make you Secretary of the Inferior,” he mused, obviously winging it now.

“Or, I could put you on the Supreme Court,” he continued, on a roll by this time. “I’m going to fire all of them and start over with a clean slate. About time, too. They can’t even tell a chad from a hole in a card for heaven’s sake. I can’t make you Chief Justice because that position’s made for Mack. But I can put you in Clare Thomas’s seat. He never says anything anyway, thank heaven.”

“Not like me,” Itsy managed to squeeze into Benjamin’s diatribe. “I say lots of things all the time.”

“Indeed,” he acknowledged, pausing for moment to peer down benevolently at his little sister. “So, what do you say?” he asked congenially. “We join forces, make our two parties one, you quit running for president and….”

“I ain’t runnin’ for president,” Itsy informed him. “You can go ahead and run for it if you want.”

This statement stopped Benjamin mid-peroration. Catching his breath, eyes big with surprise, he asked, “What did you say?”

“I ain’t runnin’ for president,” Itsy repeated. “I been trying to tell you that.”

“Yeah, but, but…” It was now his turn to stutter. “Why do you have a band and a campaign poster and everything?”

“I’m gonna be princess, queen, king, empress,” she told him. “I’ll be over you when you’re president. I’m gonna be your boss!” she informed him triumphantly.

For a moment, Benjamin was actually silent. He was dumbfounded. Then he laughed and said, “Okay, then, go ahead and run for all those things. I don’t care. You probably won’t get elected anyway.”

“Will too,” Itsy insisted.

“Will not,” Benjamin returned.

“Will too,” Itsy shot back.

“Okay, okay,” I intervened. “That’s enough. I think we’re all agreed that you can both go ahead and run whatever campaigns you want. Right?”

“Yetz!” Itsy replied snappily, immediately firing off her cannon, “Ka-WHOOMPF!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin grumped, paws to his ears.

“Do you agree, Benjamin?” I prompted him.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure, whatever,” he muttered, starting to turn back to his poster-making.

Trying to sidetrack Itsy from any more confrontations with Benjamin, I asked her, “So what are you going to call your party?”

“Well,” she said, “I wanted to call it ‘Itsy’s Girls Rule Party,’ but Letta and Biwi said that wouldn’t work ‘cause boys wouldn’t think they could vote for a party called that, they’re so stupit.”

“Um, yes, that makes a kind of sense, I guess,” I waffled. “So what are you going to call it?”

“Itsy’s Birfday Party!” she yelled out enthusiastically.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Benjamin, turning back to face Itsy again. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yetz it does,” Itsy affirmed. “Somebody’s always having a birfday every day. So we’re just going to make it a rule that everybody has a birfday party for somebody every day! That way everybody gets cake and honey and presents every day. Who couldn’t like that rule?” she wanted to know.

Benjamin stopped in his tracks, scratched his head, looked thoughtful, then, with a look of pleasant surprise on his face, he said, “You know, that actually could work.”

“’Course it could!” Itsy agreed. “I thought it up, and I’m a girl, and girls are always right.”

“Humph, well, we’ll let that slide for now,” Benjamin decided, apparently still in a residual diplomatic mode. “But, you know, if we worked that in with my 24/7 Fun Raiser Days platform, we might have a real game stopper here.”

“What game?” Itsy wanted to know.

“Huh? Oh, that’s just an…, um, never mind,” Benjamin replied. “Let’s focus on the Everyday’s a Birthday Fun Raiser scheme for now,” he suggested, actually putting his arm around her shoulders and bending down to go into a political huddle with her. “We can give people Teddies for presents. That’ll be a great way to covertly deliver our agents into homes across the country!”

Talk about your strange bedfellows.

I took this moment of temporary détente to leave the room, stealthily tip-toeing away before all hell could break loose once more. I wanted to find a place to hide a toy horn and drum sticks where I could be certain no Teddy would ever find them again. Fat chance, I know. But I had to try. No matter where I went, I could still hear murmurs and chuckles of political intrigue emanating from the kitchen. It looks like we were in for some interesting times ahead, heaven help us.