To believe Trump you’d a thunk the democrats nominated Fidel Castro!
Since “ Socialist” Joe Biden is just one step away from morphing into the Cuban dictator – that is according to my die-hard Trump following neighbors – I pulled out the perfect “protective” mask to wear for my COVID compliant neighborhood walks. Call it socialist social distancing. I will bring to life their worst fears and misguided assumptions in one fell swoop.
This Red Scare mindset was confirmed only yesterday from an overheard conversation amongst a small group of right-wingers who are regulars at my local beach. Yesterday’s earnest moronic rant was “ All the Cubans like Trump because they know what a socialist is like! “A vote for Biden is a vote for the far radical left, anarchy, and socialism.
They echoed exactly what Donald -I -don’t-want -to-cause-a -panic-Trump wants them to think. Trump’s strategy to win over Floridian Latinos, is portraying Biden as the reincarnation of Fidel Castro.
Does Joe Biden sport a light machine gun and bandolier of stolen Soviet ammunition?
That was the implication at the Republican National Convention last month, where speaker and speaker portrayed him as a committed socialist revolutionary.
“Make no mistake: Joe Biden and Kamala Harris want a cultural revolution,” said Senator Tim Scott (R-S.C.). “If we let them, they will turn our country into a socialist utopia.”
Maximo Alvarez, a Cuban-American businessman, compared Biden to Fidel Castro. “I’ve seen ideas like this before and I’m here to tell you, we cannot let them take over our country,” he said.
This group of non-mask wearing protestors who are so fearful of their freedom being taken away can’t mask their stupidity.
The mask of Fidel Castro of course s courtesy of my own Cold War mask collection, bringing back fond memories of wearing this mask for Halloween 1962, just days after the Cuban Missile Crises.
There would be no glittering fairy princess with a magic wand for me. No ghosts or goblins for my brother. No, my parents had something more ghoulish in mind.
Less than a week after the crisis that brought the world to the very brink of nuclear destruction, my parents thought it a hoot to masquerade their children as the culprits of that Cuban Missile Crisis, Soviet Leader Nikita Khrushchev and Cuba’s very own Fidel Castro. What better way to keep a cold war chill in the air than to dress my brother and me as those two lovable cold war communist cut-ups.
With the promise that these two true-to-life masks would elicit plenty cold war chuckles ( nothing says funny like a pair of ruthless dictators) Andy and I agreed.
My older brother had first dibs on choosing masks and he immediately claimed the swashbuckling, bearded Castro as his own. Because the charismatic Cuban was always dressed in army fatigues, my brother’s choice entitled him to wear my father’s mothball scented WWII army uniform and a White Owl cigar clenched between his teeth.
Cold War Cowboy
Though disappointed to be relegated to the balding, wrinkled Khrushchev, my parents gave me free rein in how to accessorize the Soviet Premiere.
Best known for his off-the-Russian-racks suits, I decided to opt for the cold war cowboy look.
Because I was still deep in my “gunslinger stage” picking my official “Have Gun Will Travel” togs was an obvious choice. Dressed in black, sanforized cotton from head to toe, my Khrushchev would look quite cunning in his regulation “Paladin” black felt hat.
Strapping on the leatherette holster set with two caps guns was the final touch. Short and pudgy Khrushchev wasn’t coy about his ample arsenal of missiles, nor was I.
Tick or Treat
At every house, suburban moms with Jackie Kennedy bouffants greeted my brother and me with bemused smiles.
In this mid-century mélange, we were the only cold warriors in sight.
After a long parade of repetitious, predictable princesses, witches and creepy skeletons, a pair of suburban socialists begging for money for the UN caused gales of laughter.
As the housewives opened their front door wiping their soapy hands on their flowery aprons, manicured hands still damp from washing the dinner dishes, they tossed in fistfuls of Mary Janes and tootsie rolls.
Even unfamiliar, normally unfriendly neighbors winked at my brother and me, making sure to add a few extra shiny pennies for UNICEF.
The more we drew laughter – me in my gun slingin’ black-hatted Khrushchev disguise and my brother camouflaged as a cigar chompin’, khaki Communist – the heavier my UNICEF box seemed to grow.
In this make-believe night, I could almost believe in the UN’s hope for friendly relations with all nations. For a few hours on that frosty night in 1962, my brother and I were doing our part in defrosting the cold war.
© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.