My father passed away a year ago yesterday. I considered marking the anniversary by visiting him at Arlington National, but decided that would have been a bit too obvious and pat for my father, and worrying that he would be rolling his eyes and laughing at me from Secular Humanist Librarian Valhalla or wherever the fuck he is, I decided to have a nice day taking his old train down to place where he had happily and proudly spent his entire adult professional career, the Library of Congress.

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It sucked having to stand in the tourist line to visit. I was standing in line behind a father and two sons who were wearing identical backpacks that had hydration straws that led from the pack to their mouths as though they were in some corn fed contemporary Midwestern version of Dune. Yes, I was embarrassed to be a member of the same species as them. The Library had two exhibits; one on the life of Winston Churchill, and one on Bob Hope. I visited the one Churchill one, as my father was a Churchill-maniac, and ignored the Bob Hope exhibit. My father hated Bob Hope, who in his mind was guilty of the most despicable sin ever known to man, Republicanism.

Dad hated Republicans more than anyone I’ve ever met. He was no touchy feely tree hugging hippie; he was a fire and brimstone partisan Democrat who took no greater delight than to tell Conservatives in their faces why exactly he felt they were stupid racist lying xenophobic populist manipulating ignorant shitwads unworthy of living in his beloved secular republic. He taught me that Republicans ate babies (really they do), "busy giddy minds with foreign quarrels..." (he made me learn my Shakespeare … especially the histories), and devoted decades to convincing the ignorant populist rabble that the perfectly decent word “liberal” was somehow a pejorative so as to have them vote their bidding and protect their rich man status and tax credits (he also taught me how to add two and two together). I usually try to be a little more friendly towards those on the other side of the hall, and try to be a little more understanding of where they are coming from. But my father did not approve of being polite to conservatives, he didn’t think they deserved kindness, and as this post is for Dad, I’ll let the piss and vinegar fly.

I think he would have happier if I had spent the day walking around DC actually tripping every Republican in sight, but if you did that in his day you would only be found guilty of assault. Today, they would probably stick you in prison for treason and not grant you trial. But, he had the luxury of living in a Constitutional Democracy, I do not. So I spent the day, much like he did for over forty years, walking around DC only fantasizing about tripping Republicans.

Anyway, after I left the Library I went to visit the Sackler and Freer art galleries, as my father and I had done dozens of times. He would drag me into the Freer kicking and screaming when I was a little child so I would learn the all important lesson of the superior Japanese aesthetic. He would try his best to bore me with tales of the Kamakura period and Whistler integrating Western and Japanese motifs and I would just drift off and hang out with my two favorite 14th century Buddhist temple protecting bad-ass motherfucker sculpture buddies, (Misshaku (mish-AH-koo) Kongo and Naeren (NAY-ren) Kongo).

I also took in Caliphs and Kings: The Art and Influence of Islamic Spain. My father adored that shit. Art, to him was more of a historical study. They had a Baptismal bath on display that had been made by Mudejar (Islamic craftsmen who lived under Spanish Christian Rule) who had covered the bath with Islamic symbols so that the Baptisms wouldn’t “take.” I laughed out loud when I read that. He would have too.