Many years ago, my father absolutely put one over on his sweet older sister, my aunt, who (I was quite young and don’t recall) was visiting us from either North Dakota or San Diego, where she moved after the tragic accident death of her husband.
He had gone golfing with his business-partner brother and some other business associates that day.
She asked how the day had gone, and he replied that it had been pretty terrible.
“Really? I’m so sorry. Why?” she inquired.
“Well,” he answered, “do you remember my friend Charlie?”
She thought that perhaps she recalled the name.
Unfortunately, he said, Charlie had died on the third hole.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s terrible! What did you do?”
“What on earth could I do?” he responded. “I’d hit the ball, and then drag Charlie. Then hit the ball again, and drag Charlie.”
I think she hit him. Playfully. Embarrassed that she’d so completely fallen for his deadpan tale.
It’s an old joke, but she fell for it. Without reservation. And with lovable naïveté. She was one of the most guileless persons I’ve ever known, kind to the point of affectionate caricature.
I think of that joke sometimes when I contemplate what passes for Obama administration foreign policy. Except that Mr. Obama seems uninterested in dragging Charlie, who’s still lying in the sun, back on that third hole.
Posted from Cedar City, Utah