(noon. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
We’re hurt. We’re struggling. We look at our children and our dwindling bank accounts and piling debt and wonder how we’re going to make it. Will my company be bought tomorrow? Will I have a job?
What will happen to my kids?
Barack, I love your intellect. I appreciate the fact that you’ve presented real, tangible plans to fix our economy.
But I need to know that you get me.
I already know that other guy doesn’t. I already know he’s got seven, no eight, no ten houses. I cringe when I hear him talk about “the fat cats” when he’s been drinking at their teats for decades now, in Washington, chasing the White Wale of the White House that has eluded him for so long.
This gives you an opening. Tell me about your single mother. Tell me what it was like shopping with her for foodstamps when you were growing up. Explain to me the humiliation of having to buy a certain type of orange juice, a certain type of cheese, and the looks – the awful, condemning looks – of the cashiers when your mother pulled those foodstamps, ever so haltingly out of her purse, trying to hide them from you with her hands as she paid for her groceries.
Tell me what it was like to know that the only way you could make it was on a combination of brains, luck and hard work. Tell me how it feels like looking back at that time and knowing that this country – this beautiful country that stands for the ideal that everyone can make it, everyone has a chance – gave you that chance to succeed. Tell me how you grabbed ahold of that chance with both hands and never let go, even during your darkest doubts.
Talk to me about all these things, and then tell me you get me. Let me know you feel me.
Do it now. Put it into a two minute ad and dovetail the cerebral with the emotional. Make your messaging on this one a little less Miles Davis and a little more B.B. King.
I want a leader who knows what this is like. You’ve lived this before.