The Current Regime in the USA
I was born in 1952, into an America that still pretended to be orderly. People held doors open, children respected their elders, and the Constitution was spoken of with the kind of reverence usually reserved for scripture. My generation—the Baby Boomers—challenged every rule we could find. We questioned politics, religion, social norms, and yes, even human sexuality. But despite our rebellion, we still had a sense of civility. We understood boundaries. We knew that freedom required responsibility.
That’s why I can’t help comparing those days with what we see now.
Take Number 45—our former president—whose early classroom antics included shooting spit wads. Back then, teachers knew exactly what that meant: a child testing limits, lacking discipline, and headed toward trouble if no adult intervened. Those were the kids who needed a firm hand and a strong word, not applause. But in his life, the word no simply evaporated on contact. No lesson learned, no humility gained—only entitlement reinforced again and again.
I first heard his name during my years as a flight attendant for Eastern Airlines. Flying in and out of New York, you couldn’t escape his reputation. When Eastern collapsed under Frank Lorenzo, Number 45 bought the Eastern Air Shuttle as if it were a new toy. Instead of preserving jobs or stabilizing a vital service, he tore it apart. People lost their livelihoods. He walked away smiling. To him, collapse wasn’t tragedy—it was entertainment.
And then there was the tabloid era. Every New Yorker remembers it. His marriage unraveling across front pages, affairs paraded like trophies, scandals stacked on scandals. His wife stayed home caring for their children while he played out his escapades in broad daylight. Later came Marla Maples, the public affair, yet another round of headlines. And circling nearby were names like Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell—the kind of company that should have made any decent person step back, reflect, and reconsider their life choices.
But again, no one told him no. Not meaningfully. Not with consequence.
So when I talk about my feelings toward this man—Number 45—it’s not about politics. It’s about a lifetime of watching a pattern. A man who never matured beyond the emotional age of a frustrated toddler. A man who throws tantrums when blocked, fabricates illnesses when cornered, and posts on social media at hours when leaders should be sleeping, thinking, or working. He should be focused on diplomacy and national stability, yet he behaves like a child ruling over plastic castles in a sandbox.
And yet, somehow, some people lift him up as though he descended from a cloud carrying stone tablets.
But let’s be clear: he is not a god.
He is not a savior.
He is not even particularly disciplined.
He is a man who grew older without ever growing up—a man who mistakes chaos for charisma, cruelty for strength, and attention for respect. He makes our country look naïve, foolish, and easily manipulated. And the world watches, bewildered, wondering how such a figure became a symbol for anything other than arrested development.
My feelings are simple: America deserves better than a leader stuck perpetually in the spit-wad stage of life. We deserve someone who can hear the word no without setting the world on fire. Someone who doesn’t crumble at pressure or unravel at boundaries. Someone who governs with maturity, clarity, and dignity.
Because the presidency is not a playpen.
And this nation—our home—deserves more than the tantrums of an undisciplined child.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 