Republicans don't have a lock on family values. We've got 'em, too! And I have the Al Franken anecdote to prove it.
Back in 1992, I was at the University of Iowa studying in the lucrative field of English literature and critical theory. Al Franken's book I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me! was a best seller. I introduced the book in a class as a marvelous example of Barthesian open text that can be read in many different ways, and darned if my professor (with whom I had many a terrific conversation about lowbrow vs. highbrow sensibilities) didn't take a shine to Stuart Smalley's literary charms.
When the professor wrote up my championing of Franken's book when he nominated me for a prestigious scholarship that I eventually won, I knew I had to thank him with a specially signed Stuart Smalley book.
And that's when Al Franken turned me in for child neglect.
I'd called Mr. Franken's agent and asked about having a copy of I'm Good Enough ... specially signed. As a native Minne-SOA-dahn (jaaaa, sure, youbetcha), I am well-acquainted with the rivalry between Minnesota and Iowa, so along with the book to be signed, I sent some uber-cheesy Iowa paraphernalia and some jokes about Iowegians and Minnedinavians. Al was so kind and tenderly sarcastic when he called me to say he'd be delighted to sign the book and to talk about what he might write. We had a great little conversation, and he appropriately poked fun at me for studying critical theory, a field whose experts invariably garner incomes rivaling those of the best-paid insurance company CEOs. He was just so darned nice, jaaaa!
It was a beautiful, sunny day in the Heartland, and I was upstairs in our ancient farmhouse out in the middle of the cornfields near West Branch, Iowa. (West Branch, incidentally, is home of the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library and Museum and site where Dan Quayle once patted my daughter on the head and then scooted her off the stage by bopping her on the ass as he said to the crowd of journalists in attendance, "Oh, I just love little children!" But that's another family-values anecdote for another day ...)
So I was upstairs typing away at a paper on analog vs. digital character attributes in a science fiction text. My four-year-old was downstairs making believe she was driving the New Kids on the Block to a concert in a large cardboard box. We had only one phone back in the day, and it was downstairs, so I didn't hear it ring when Al Franken called to let me know he'd just shipped the signed book to me.
But my daughter did. So she answered it.
It must have been just a few minutes later when I looked out the window and saw a line of police cars coming up the driveway, lights flashing.
Apparently, the phone conversation had gone something like this:
Four-year-old: Hewwo.
Al Franken: Hi there! Who's this?
Four-year-old: It's me!
Al Franken: Well, Me, is your mommy there?
Four-year-old: No, she's got school.
Al Franken: How about your daddy, honey? Is your daddy there?
Four-year-old: No, he's at work.
Al Franken: So you're home alone, sweetie? How old are you?
Four-year-old: I'm FOUR YEARS OLD!
Al Franken: And there's nobody there with you? No one at all?
Four-year-old: I have Barbie dolls. Want to see?
Al Franken: Don't worry, sweetie, I'm going to have someone come take care of you.
In the middle of the conversation with the very confused me and the very confused police officers who came to investigate reports of an abandoned toddler in a farmhouse, the phone rang again. It was Franni, Al's wife, calling to check up on things. She told me how worried Al was when he learned that my wee daughter was home alone. I explained what probably happened, and one of the officers assured her that everything was fine.
Later, after all the hubbub died down, I had another call from Al. We laughed about the mix-up, and I thanked him for being concerned. He told me his kids are about the same age as mine, and he told me about some hijinks his five-year-old son got into when parents were out of the room.
His inscription in the book: "I can see why people who know MsSpentyouth might be drawn to a self-help book. She's fortunate to have a professor like you in her corner; you're a good man for supporting her studies. I hope you have a good therapist in your corner. After talking with MsSpentyouth, I realize how desperately you need one."
And that, my friends, is how progressives take care of one another! And it's one of the reasons I sent his campaign a little something extra each month for the challenge fight. He earned it.