Stu Bykofsky: Food flies, feuds flare, genders clash: It's Election '08 with the Bykofskys
AT THE Annual Bykofsky Florida Family Fiesta, the usual divisions - Young vs. Old(er), Pepsi vs. Coke, Droolers vs. Incontinent - were replaced by the civil war cracking (Democratic) families from Maine to Hawaii, from Cheltenham to Chester: Hillary vs. Obama.
AT THE Annual Bykofsky Florida Family Fiesta, the usual divisions - Young vs. Old(er), Pepsi vs. Coke, Droolers vs. Incontinent - were replaced by the civil war cracking (Democratic) families from Maine to Hawaii, from Cheltenham to Chester: Hillary vs. Obama.
My family mostly leans left because Mom and Dad taught social justice as a virtue. (This will surprise those who say I am the neocon love child of Pat Buchanan.)
It may have started with virtue, but now we lean left mostly out of habit, like a bald guy who uses his hand to smooth hair that used to be there. It's habit because none of us requires the embrace of the Nanny State.
My sister and brother were underpaid as New York City teachers, but their pensions did very, very well. As retirees, they collect more than as workers.
They should be Republicans, but habits are hard to break.
Their three 30-something children are in the low-six-figure family-income bracket. My kids are far behind their cousins, the richest of whom, oddly, is the stingiest. Or maybe that's not so odd.
My daughter with the heart of gold lives with animals but without Serious Money. She is a chip off Dad's block, except . . . through strict savings and careful investments - and living a really long time - Dad's well-off, while short of rich.
We gathered in Florida to celebrate his 92nd year, and to mourn Mom, whom we lost one year ago. Her presence - not her absence - was felt by all, and acknowledged by Dad, who remains hopelessly in love with her.
Dad and my daughter talked long about uplifting the working poor, which includes my daughter. Dad leases a new car every two years and cannot adjust to the reality that he is upper middle class. (His latest car, a Chevy Impala 2LT with a spoiler, is better suited to NASCAR than to Boca Raton. Did I mention he is 92?)
My son talks left, bats right. He's running his own business and is the latest generation to prove the Bykofskys have no business being in business.
We're seated around a huge table at a Pizzeria Uno, 18 of us, bickering like geese. Our waiter, Miguel, is saying he thinks we were sent by another family, the Sopranos, when all hell breaks loose.
I don't mean the wild scramble to the "included" seafood bar.
It's Hillary vs. Obama: Chicken fingers are flung. Crab legs are launched.
Generally, the boys are for Obama, the girls are for Hillary. A coincidence?
My sweet wife, Baby Cakes, is for Hillary. A passionless supporter, she is not alone when she says Americans would sooner elect a black than a woman. Around the table, the girls think that if America is to be led by any minority, it's their turn. The Sisterhood remembers, bitterly, that blacks got the right to vote before women, and that they're tired of being excluded from the "boys-only" treehouse. Other families are similarly divided along gender lines.
We guys don't back Barack simply because he's male, but we're clueless about the historical oppression of women (a statistical majority which controls some 70 percent of U.S. wealth).
Well, "that doesn't matter!" they say, angrily stamping little Jimmy Choo-shod feet. "It's Hillary's turn. Bwaaaah!"
Wasn't that Bob Dole's ticket, too?
We guys would rather tackle a woman charging into a 50-percent-off sale than argue against glass ceiling-smashing Hillary.
So at Pizzeria Uno, we guys hold our fire. Some to be diplomatic, some because they want sex later.
Our family won't be wrecked on the political shoals. Politicians are transitory. A loving family, even when dysfunctional, is forever. *
E-mail stubyko@phillynews.com or call 215-854-5977. For recent columns: