I never knew my real parents. The people who raised me had been placed in my hometown under the witness exchange program. I was merely a prop.
Still, I always felt loved.
Writing a politically-oriented blog is, obviously, akin to mounting a soapbox in Hyde Park or climbing out onto that little upstairs balcony in the Vatican and blathering away to strangers…it is inevitably and undeniably presumptuous. And it risks dire embarrassments or, more accurately, is a guarantee of them. What differentiates blogging and soapboxing isn’t much but it’s what accounts for the raging popularity of the former. First, there’s the agreeable weather conditions in one’s den. Second, it is no thing at all to ward off an inference whereas a real tomato…