“If I Was President….”

I think, starting today, we will explore this, off and on, for the next couple of weeks, at least until I get tired of it, since it is campaign season for the next two years.

Everyone has an opinion about what they would do if they were in charge of these here United States. I think, if it was me, a part of it would kind of depends what kind of mood I was in that would dictate what or how I would act. A noted talk show guy, when he was asked about it, said the best kind of president was someone who didn’t want to be president.

I think those are the ones you can trust the most. Some random person thrusted into THE office, with all his baggage and roughness, nothing sanded down by years or decades of being in Washington. Some poor bastard that had been drafted and thrown into the tank with people standing on the rail yelling ‘swim ya bastard swim.’

But I think we’ve all thought about it, what we would do, mostly when the situation comes up on the news.

I have.

Kinda like which actor would I like to play the leads in my novels.

Yesterday, when I got home, I cut the lawn and while I did so, I worked out a bunch of stuff on the world level, complete with my headphones on playing random play music from my iPhone. I think Pit Bull was playing. An hour before that, a pitcher of beer was involved and the end of a week doing whatever I do was the start of the thought process.

This morning, after a good night sleep, walking the dogs, and two cups of coffee, things seem a little more peaceful. Sure, there are world events, domestic issues, foreign policies that need work, but not this morning.

Not yet.

If I was President, I would get up and walk my dogs in the backyard of the family part of the White House, in my sweats, under which I still have on my jammies-a well-used pair of black Calvin Klein’s with the elastic in the waistband worn out.

Secret Service would welcome me, standing right outside the door. “Good morning Mr. President,” Paul would say, all bundled in his winter coat. Paul pulled the night shift since he has only been with the Service for two years. He got the short straw. He could be watching me from the camera room where the other guys are, but he’s from Death Valley originally and loves the cold.

“Good morning Paul,” I would say back. Juggling my dogs on leashes, the plastic grocery bag for the poo, and my coffee cup.

I would pick up my own dogs’ poo. I’m not sure why I have them on the leash. It’s not like they’re going anywhere and I wouldn’t have anyone else pick up my dogs poo. I think some of the Security might be a little uncomfortable around dogs. Like they got bit when they were working or younger or a prior president didn’t manage them well, maybe thought it was okay for them to be nasty to the people willing to throw themselves in front of a piece of metal traveling at 2800 feet per second.

Nope. I get that.

Maybe if I let them get sniffed and playful, they would come around, but I get it. What, the ‘President can’t pick up his own poo?’ What kind of Italian roasted coffee ground would I be? We would wander to the back lawn area, Paul already notifying the rest of the early morning crew that ‘Single-Malt One’ was on the move, heading to the back yard to throw the balls for Bella and Bob, two brother and sisters from different fathers and mother, rescued from a home.

The Service wants me to stay behind the bushes in the family area, standing out in the open allows for an easy shot from the street especially if I go to the front or back lawns instead of staying in the family area where tourists can’t see. I keep telling them I can’t get a good throw back there unless I stand in the tulip bed. But I try to comply. Don’t want Paul on the lawn with me risking himself in case someone wants to snap a round off. Paul has a wife and two kids. Yeah, not going to risk that. So, family yard it is.

But they know I have to go out and get the poo the dogs planted. I told the National Park Service guy—Teddy, I think his name was, to leave a shovel by the hedge so I could pick the stuff up and put it in the bag. I get the bags from the kitchen when some of the groceries are delivered on order from the store. Those custom poo bags aren’t big enough. He told me he would get it.

“You, my dear man, are not picking up my dogs’ crap unless I’m not home and then only if I’m gone for a few days. I’ll get it when I come back.”

Teddy appreciates that.

He’s seen what those dogs can leave. The size of a Marie Callendar pie tin they can. The Service goes Level ‘Yellow’ when Single-Malt One goes out from cover to get the steamers in the yard if I’m in the front or back. The guys on the roof come out and stand on the edge of the roof, scanning with their scopes for any distant activity. Paul wants me to run in a serpentine pattern if anything happens. He rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh when I tell him to ‘cover me’ in the family yard. Bella sniffs him or his replacement every morning while Bob pees on the begonias. The agent notifies the agents on the roof and they really are covering me. I drop the bag in the trash can on the way back in and put the shovel back. Sometimes, I need to rinse off the shovel. Sometimes, well, one of those two eat something that doesn’t clean up well.

It sticks.

If it was me, I would live this way—starting this way every day. I think it’s the way God wants me to act. It would be the ultimate public servant position and that is something I cannot forget and have to keep at the forefront of my brain. Jesus modeled servanthood and this job is big. BUT-I don’t think it’s as big as being a father or a mother. I would wager parents impact at a higher level than the guy in that white home. Sure, there are policies he or she makes which impact all of us, but on a daily basis, nothing beats out the impact of a parent-nothing.

It’s what I have done for decades. Why would I stop? The day would be filled with scheduled items, and handlers telling me where and what to do. But just before dawn, in my sweats and used up waist-band underwear, life is real. In an hour, I would be showered and suited up.

Game time.