Senator Tom

“My family never sees things like I do,” Senator Gobbler proclaimed to a junior citizen standing near Dumb Barton Street waiting to be picked up, feeling the debatable capital punishment presence haunting the powerful individual.

“Is that why you never return to your constituents?”

“They keep voting me into office claiming I am their elder statesman,” Senator Gobbler sipped his coffee, trying to understand the appointment’s truth.

When the yellow school bus beat the publicly funded transportation, the child properly thanked the stranger before confronting grade school social recess time.

Looking into the ‘Stars All Have Bucks’ red paper container, Senator Gobbler saw a creamy vision, encouraging him to act and eliminate a certain element from his responsibility agenda.

“Take me to the train station,” the Senator told the cab driver, waving the day’s work white flag.

Easily buying a commuter railway ticket, comfortably securing passage and when the whistle sounded, Senator Gobbler felt confident he made the right decision taking time to enjoy the holiday with his family. Passing over the bridge he noticed a few people fishing, fending off the November weather and wondered if they were believing in something that did not exist. Reflecting upon the scene strengthened his decision-making skills in the same way an athlete threw around a football, not worried about losing it due to a turnover.

After an hour the train halted, and the Senator grabbed his briefcase quickly hailing another metered measured ride. Safely, at the farmhouse, he proceeded towards the door knocking three times, fulfilling a family superstition.

“Senator Gobbler, you come here needing a donation to stay in office?” The high school aged individual inquired.

“No, son I am your Uncle, is your mother here?”

“In the kitchen fixing all the fixings,” the boy stated allowing Senator Gobbler to enter.

“Henrietta,” Senator Gobbler called out.

“Tom, you decided to come home,” his sister announced, “of course we will add another seat at the crowded feast for Senator Tom Gobbler.

Senator Gobbler felt comfortable sitting at the luncheonette table discussing the issues inside the home where he was raised.

“So, are you ready for the feast of the turkeys?” Senator Gobbler innocently asked, “tomorrow.”

“First tomorrow, we have business to attend to,” the youngster exclaimed interrupting the setting, “win the big game.”

“Yes, the Feast Of The Turkey, rivalry, winner takes all, loser cleans the dishes,”

“Sounds like fun,” Senator Gobbler listened intently, “then what?”

“We devour a bird, then Good Friday after ‘the feast of the turkey’ we,”

“Shop, keep the economy going,”

“No, Uncle Tom, go to the library and do research on my mashed potatoe paper,” the nephew answered, “keep the education agenda going,”

After sunset closed the daylight period, Senator Gobbler joined his nephew at the pep rally bonfire, held despite everyone being paid peanuts. Keeping an outstretched hand, back on stage, pitching his act, promoting the barbeque beef healthy eating proposal, the political servant showed theatrical promises. Hearing the band play all that jazz, a big game long-standing tradition performed when he attended the free tax paying learning institution, he remembered the past especially the time he met his wife, a handbag salesperson.

It was her untimely terminal experience that led Senator Gobbler to draw up medical bills mentioning Medicare, prescription medication once a day, and not to drop any bombs, the newspapers of record chronicled the loving affair inspiring a community and ended peacefully despite his trusting spouse never discovering the investment finances origins, earmarked for personal real estate deals.

When the adolescent event hit its climax Uncle Tom took the hint, walking home alone, after his nephew’s fellow classmate lured him to another party. Handling the physical activity with no problems, the Senator checked his watch.

“I made a good time,” he concluded.

“Henrietta, back from my stroll, the kid went off, to be a teenager tonight,”

Locating the couch, he plopped down and pushed remote television buttons, “the late-night comedians are on tonight,” the Senator mentioned, “I wonder if I will make the cut.”

Hearing the disturbance, Henrietta emerged, “I have been slaving in that room all afternoon and night,” she commented having an ax to grind, “and there is one more thing I have to do.”

Next morning Thompson Tierney completed her ‘first and ten, do it again routine’ and noticed Senator Tom’s nephew staring, deciding to follow up on the teasing gesture the cheerleader approached her classmate. “So, where is our faithful leader?” Thompson asked, “I thought he would come to the big game,”

“Mom, got him baked overnight,” the nephew reported, “he will be ready by dinner time.”

“So, what time is dinner?” Thompson accepted the assumed invitation.

“2 pm,”

“Make sure you save me the leg,” Thompson grinned looking forward to enjoying getting political carcass leftovers.