Upon entering the state of Maine, there is a sign on the side of the turnpike, which has befuddled me pretty much all my life.
WELCOME TO MAINE
The way life should be
I challenge you to find a more loaded sign. It implies some sort of utopian blueberry picking cross country skiing ideal. A world of tanned Thoreauish utilitarian pragmatists, L.L. Bean boot wearing types, who can preserves for the winter and dine on lobster in the brief summer.
Or you can play the Method actor game with it:
The WAY life should be
The way LIFE should be
The way life SHOULD be
The reality of course is quite different. Not that there aren't truly charming parts of Maine. Eventually, I will write about a childhood that can be best described as growing up inside a Norman Rockwell painting, but not today.
This morning I'm embarrassed. My home state had a chance to make history for marriage equality, but will go down as just another example of what happens when the majority votes on the minority.
I understand that change, the real, lasting kind takes time. But this country didn't desegregate because we voted it so. So this morning, I understand the sign with sadness.
Civil rights is the way life should be, but even in the 21st century, not the way it is.