President Bush

He’s grown old before my eyes. More wrinkled, grayer, doesn’t smile as much as the Texas governor who once elbowed me in the ribs as he circulated among state troopers after receiving an Austin briefing on a major flood in South Texas. I was there as a reporter. He didn’t know me from Adam. But he may have remembered me from the governor’s mansion’s Christmas party for the news media the previous December. If so, he had a good memory for faces and names. When he elbowed me, in a sort of happy-jock way, with a happy-jock grin on his face, I sort of half-smiled and, though I was there to write down whatever he said, I spent the rest of the time trying to stay out of his way. He still smiles easily in news conferences at the White House, but I can see that he’s tired. He spends too much time with the loved ones of dead soldiers and Marines, too much time with the wounded at Walter Reed, too much time with generals and advisers, and probably reads too much of the vitriol the media, the Dems, and the haters have thrown at him for six years now. I don’t hate him. I dislike some of his decisions, such as his refusal to control illegal immigration, to have (until lately) declined to increase the size of the fighting forces, and his apparent disinclination to follow through on some of his (I think) admirable aims after 9/11, such as taking on nations supporting terrorism. Saudi Arabia comes to mind. Yet, in the main, I still like him, and I’ve lost some friends over defending him. Bush haters all. Their slurs seem irrational to me. Also to House of Eratosthenes who (which?) has the best essay I’ve ever seen here on Bush Derangement Syndrome. Good luck, George, in your last two years. Try not to let the bastards get you down.