I have felt a number of emotions about George W. Bush over the years, but tenderness has not been among them -- until yesterday. CNN, covering the after-activities of the inauguration of Barack Obama, signaled in the ticker at the bottom of the screen that now "former" President Bush had landed in Texas. For a guy like me who is challenged by endings -- any kind of ending, even storing away the tree after Christmas -- I wondered what he must be feeling. Quiet, I imagine. Gone, at least for the moment, are the sounds of crowds -- both the cheering ones and the jeering ones; gone even must be the clattering shutters of cameras punctuating his every step. Still, at least for the moment, is the constant and frenetic swirl of aids and couriers and staff. And vacuous must be the space that almost unspeakable responsibility occupied until just hours before.
And my guess is that he is smiling -- at least for the moment. By almost trivial comparison, I remember the lightening relief I felt during my first sabbatical with the knowledge that the phone, so to speak, would not ring. For virtually the first time in my adult life, I was completely off-duty. And the former President is, in ways only a very select fraternity can understand, off-duty.
But I wonder if the silence might, indeed, be -- today, or perhaps tomorrow -- deafening as well; I wonder if the stillness might feel paralyzing? Absence, after all, where momentous presence has been can be a melancholy relief.
My guess is that this is a day that the former President and First Lady have looked forward to. All the attention given in recent days to the accellerated aging effect the White House exerts -- all those photographic comparisons of Presidential appearances coming into office with those leaving office lead me to believe that the breathtaking rigors of that office make the end of term a date to circle on the private calendar with the notation, "Free at last!"
But I also suspect that clearing brush at the Crawford farm will provide only temporary satisfaction. When you are accustomed to the weight of the free world resting on your shoulders, the terrible threat of some overgrown bushes has got to feel eerily light. The roar of the crowd, the flash of the camera, and thee center of attention can be as addictive as they almost certainly are exhausting.
And I feel for him. How easy, I wonder, is it to truly leave it all behind?
2 comments:
You're kind to be thinking about George W early this morning.
The emotion I belive that W is feeling comes from the note supposedly left by James Buchanan to Abraham Lincoln:
"If you are as happy in entering the White House as I shall feel on returning to Wheatland, you are a happy man indeed."
We'll see how Obama gets along now that he has to take responsibility for the country instad of getting on the podium and harping about what is wrong with it.
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