Dream of: 26 July 1996 "What About Me?"
Bill Clinton and his wife Hillary were traveling around the country from city to city stopping and visiting with people along the way. Since they had now arrived at the city where I was, I had come out to see them. I found them at one end of what appeared to be a large football field, where they had set up a long cafeteria-style table at which they were sitting, facing the small crowd gathered in front of them. Since so few people were present, it was actually possible to walk up to the Clintons and speak with them for a few minutes. However, as I watched others approach the Clintons, I stood off by myself and I didn't go to them, even though I wanted to talk with them. And indeed, I had a special reason to speak with them: I was Bill Clinton's son.
My mother was also at the gathering, and I could see her walking around and talking to different people. She was in the prime of life, slender and attractive. She was dressed in an elegant light-pink dress, and indeed she moved with obvious charm and verve. I could see how Clinton could have been attracted to her at one time. However, now I noticed that my mother, like I, didn't go over to the Clintons, and that no acknowledgment was given that they even knew each other.
In fact I was uncertain that Clinton even knew I was his son. It seemed that he did know, but it had been so long since he had faced the subject, I thought he might have forgotten. What if he were now to recognize me and call me over to him? What if he were to embrace me and announce to all the world that I was actually his son? How happy I would be. I would be welcomed into his family and at last I would have a home to which I could go.
In such a scenario a would also enjoy meeting Hillary, whom I particularly admired. I watched her as she sat at the table, how she smiled as she met and greeted the people. Her daughter was also with her, and the two of them seemed quite close. At one point, when there was a lull in the action, I noticed that Hillary and her daughter were clipping out some coupons. I had heard that Hillary was frugal, but I hadn't imagined that she would clip coupons. I wondered what else she did to save money. I thought most of her meals and expenses were paid for when she traveled. And I knew she traveled quite a bit. In fact, I had recently seen on television how that she was traveling in Europe. The commentator of the news story had favorably reported Hillary's activities, and I thought how much it must rankle the Republicans, especially Bob Dole, that Hillary was able to travel with an expense account and get good press coverage at the same time. But Dole would realize that he would be unable to grouse about what she was doing lest he come across as being mean and grouchy.
Hillary and Bill looked at ease as they continued to talk to people. They successfully presented themselves as a loving committed couple. But as I overheard the answer to one of the questions which Bill answered, I had some doubt about the harmony of their marriage. I heard Bill respond, "We believe in divorce." I knew he was simply talking about the institution of divorce, and not about him and Hillary. I knew Clinton had once campaigned against divorce. But he had switched his opinion once he had learned that the majority of Americans actually had divorces. Now he was saying that he believed that divorces should be allowed. And indeed, it seemed that someone in his family had recently obtained a divorce. But the tone of Clinton's voice when he answered the question also suggested something else: that he was sending a message to Hillary. Clinton had spoken rather gruffly, giving me the impression that although he was usually mild with Hillary, that he sometimes spoke harshly when he asserted himself. It appeared that this subject of divorce had come up between them before, and that he was now telling her in a gruff manner that a divorce was possible between them.
Finally, as Clinton sometimes did at public gatherings, he asked if anyone in the crowd would like to sing a song. A lanky black fellow probably in his mid 20s, who was standing with several other black fellows, volunteered, and proceeded to sing. The fellow had barely started the song when Clinton stood up and walked away from the table. Suddenly I realized that with his small entourage, Clinton was headed straight towards me. In a flash in occurred to me that this was the moment – he could be coming over to me to acknowledge that I was his long lost son.
But suddenly I realized something: I wasn't his son. The whole idea of my being Bill Clinton's son was simply a delusion, a fantasy, a day dream. Apparently I had just invented the whole thing in my mind. Feeling the disappointment, I realized I was just who I was, that I wasn't related to Bill Clinton in any way. Bill Clinton wasn't my father, and, in fact, I didn't even have a father.
As Clinton walked right toward me, I thought I could at least shake his hand. But with some consternation I realized my hands weren't free. I was wearing a long sleeved sweater, but my arms weren't in the sleeves; they were inside the sweater, held straight down to my sides. As Clinton walked right past me, I was unable to free my arms, and I missed my one opportunity to shake his hand.
As the crowd of people also began following Clinton, I noticed that the black fellow was still singing. But almost everyone had left except the few other black fellows who had been with him. Suddenly realizing that he had been abandoned, the black fellow looked around him with a perplexed disappointed look and called out, "What about me?"
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