Monday, February 22, 2010

Forget President(')s(') Day

President’s Day. Presidents’ Day. Presidents Day. Two with apostrophes, one without, and not a single one of them having any meaning at all. Let’s buy a car.

Washington’s Birthday used to be the big weekend for selling cars. I don’t know why; all he did was throw a silver dollar across a river, chop down a tree and not lie about it when caught. Oh, yeah: father of our county and “slept here.” Up in New England, pretty near every old house had a sign, “George Washington Slept Here.”

If GW slept in all those houses, there is little wonder he was called “the father of our country.” After all, not all those Revolutionary-era women looked or dressed quite as bad as we have been led to believe. George was, after all, a tall and handsome fellow, someday to have his face not only on the quarter, but on the dollar bill.

So we ended up with the unofficial Presidents Day, apostrophize as you wish or not wish. It’s a lame attempt to link Washington and Lincoln together, as well as any other such dignitaries you would like to admit are, were, or will be Commanders-in-Chief. Someone probably meant well, but that doesn’t cut it.

The official holiday is Washington’s Birthday. New cars or not, this is the day that counts. Jefferson’s a nice guy, got his face on the nickel and the $2 bill, but he didn’t want his presidency listed at his grave’s memorial site. So there’s no reason to have the annual Jefferson’s Birthday Drapery Blow-Out Sale.


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