You Can’t Brand a Fake, by Kevin Jackson
When a boy doesn’t know his biological father, he will calibrate his moral compass by the men around him. God-forbid he then losses his mother. That poor lad will be as lost as last year’s Easter eggs. A child without loving, caring, doting parents is at the whim of every whisper in wind blowing around him. I should know. I lost my father at the age of one. That loss was his choice. I then lost my mother at the age of five. That was God’s choice.
My grandparents stepped in and provided me a stable foundation that included hard work, small town values, and a good dose of Christianity. Growing up near a small town on a cattle ranch meant work, and work came after chores. In a small town community, everybody knows your business, so you were accountable. Accountability for me came every day and twice on Sunday.
Sitting through many three hour sermons in our tiny Baptist church on Sundays was like boot camp, especially in those hot Texas summers. The church had two wall-unit air conditioners: one in the pastor’s office and the other at the South side front window—where the pastor’s wife sat during her husband’s verbal marathons—the only interruptions coming as the plate was passed…three times. For the rest of the parishioners, the church experience was a reminder of what Hell would be like. I’m amazed at how much the teachings my pastor’s sermons have stuck with me throughout my life, nevertheless.
As I said in my book The BIG Black Lie, Obama and I had much the same life. Our fathers abandoned us, then our mothers died, and we were raised by our grandparents. That’s why I know Obama so well.
I imagine that Obama’s grandparents allowed him to find himself, as mine did. Admittedly for both of us it took some time. I admit to my problems in youth, always wanting the shortcut, and willing to do almost anything to get the brass ring. Like Obama, I was charming, intelligent, and so on. And it took me well into adulthood to understand that there is no easy way in life. If you have voids, you must fill them. More importantly you must know who you are.
The voids of childhood won’t be filled with false praise. You know when you are empty, so you clamor for somebody to help you fill the voids. Much of the time this search for fulfillment leaves a destructive wake in the path of others, as your ship of fate powers ahead.
For most of the people with my background, we are too insignificant to make much of a ripple in the grand scheme of things. And thankfully, most of us finally figured things out. With the magnificent foundation my grandparents gave me, I am one of those who outgrew my traumas.
I’m not sure if Obama got help, but what I do know is that Obama remains a fake. And in case you haven’t noticed, Liberals love fakes. Fake purses, fake watches, and even fake leaders. Liberals love fakes, because most Liberals are fakes. For Liberals, being fake is a quality, not a character flaw.
For Barack, the ability to make people think you are something you are not is a rush. Hollywood makes blockbuster movies about such people, and their stories are fascinating. A film that comes to mind is Six Degrees of Separation.
In Six Degrees of Separation, Will Smith plays the character of a gay man who faked being Sidney Poitier’s son, and he duped dozens of Liberal bourgeoisies into believing his lies. He even convinced them that Poitier was going to cast them all in a movie version of Cats. I see Barack in Will Smith’s character.
Obama is a montage of fakes. He’s every Liberals’ fantasy who doesn’t want to be found out, who wants to believe in style over substance. Liberals many times don’t realize that they gravitate to the charismatic person who lacks character, quick to give him or her a pass. Which is why even when Obama’s decisions defy logic, Liberals remain supportive, if not downright dogmatic.
Nevertheless, Liberals know Obama can’t last, and that he has been found out. Fads are not meant to last more than one season. Obama is a Ferrari kit car with a VW Beetle engine under the hood. On the outside the car looks fantastic; but the minute you crank it up, everybody knows the deal.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t brand a fake.
© 2012 Kevin Jackson – The Black Sphere, LLC – All Rights Reserved