Thursday, November 10, 2011

Something He'd Rather (You'd All) Forget

With a limited amount of time to complete a Third Person Thursday post, Transformer Generation Dad enlisted help from his wife.  She was given the premise for the tale and its general series of events and the content below prior to the series of periods is what she completed.  The end was written by the normal blog author, who considers himself lucky to have a spouse talented and supportive enough to be trusted with the first ever contribution to this blog by a secondary source.

Each of his fifteen years of public service were confident, intentional steps leading up to this very day. Peeking out into the audience from behind the stage curtains, he could see his family sitting in the front row, huge smiles on their faces, shaking hands and conversing with people. With his religious upbringing, pride was not a feeling he felt comfortable with, but today, he couldn’t help himself from booming with it.  Guilt was pushed aside and he told himself the pride was well-earned, with all his honest hard work, the solid relationships and partnerships he tactfully engineered in his party’s best interest, and his undying loyalty to their causes. Today was about all of it – the years of sweat, the sacrifices, his family, his party, his country – and he would own today.

The audience grew silent and was seated now, awaiting their candidates’ arrival on the stage for some lively debate. “Governor Shea?” a voice behind him called. He turned, and faced a young female reporter he knew well from his campaigning. She was his own daughter’s age and reminded him of her in some ways – very smart and ambitious, a future as bright as the sun.

“Yes, what is it Miss Goetz? They’re about to call us on stage.”

Miss Goetz held photographs in her hand and held them out for him to see. “Sir, the press was just sent these photos from your college days. It appears it’s you, flipping a car over, and then later, in this video clip, you talk to reporters about how you support Joe Paterno undyingly. It was years ago, at Penn State, in the wake of the discovery of years of mass child molestation going on with others knowing about it and doing nothing – the Jerry Sandusky scandal. Sir, can I get your official comment on how you believe this will impact your run for President? Sir, before you go on stage? Sir? Sir? Sir?"


"Mr. Shea?"

The change in manner of address shook him from his daydream. He wasn't about to go on stage anymore. He was sitting across a desk from a young woman.  She was near his daughter's age. Two years had passed since he abruptly canceled his press conference.

"Mr. Shea?" the young woman asked again. "You were saying?"

"Sorry," he composed himself and consulted the catalog on his desk. "We can get you that model in the Cornflower Blue and we can have it here by next Tuesday. So what do you say? Am I selling you this car today?"

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