Volume 5, Issue 65: Johnny Cakes

"You're a nice guy. And I'm grateful for that!"

My upcoming novel, Lloyd McNeil’s Last Ride, will be released on May 20. I believe you will like it. I hope you will pre-order it. Send me your pre-order receipt and I’ll send you a book plate and enter you into a contest to, like, hang out with me. Details here.

The original title of my last novel The Time Has Come was Tumultuous Times, and while I was eventually, and reluctantly, persuaded to change it, in retrospect, I’m pretty sure we should have stuck with Tumultuous Times. (The argument was that the word “tumultuous” was too complex and challenging to people to put in the title of a book, which I suppose I would understand more if we hadn’t replaced it with a title that oozes “result of a committee compromising.” I stood my ground more firmly this time for Lloyd McNeil’s Last Ride.) Tumultuous Times captured what the book was about—random people trying to survive an impossible, terrifying situation they did nothing to cause and have no control over, a reasonable metaphor for what it feels like to be alive right now—and felt to me evocative of this particular moment. But it also was a title with an implicit nod to hope: If the times are currently tumultuous, the presumption is that someday, if we catch a break, they will be a little less so.

In the early days of this newsletter, back in February 2018, I wrote about watching Ken Burns’ The Vietnam War documentary and being taken aback by how little curiosity I’d always had about what my parents went through during that time. I mean, I knew the larger details—Dad enlisted but got stationed stateside in Virginia working as a plane mechanic, he married my mom in 1971, they both had longer hair then they ever would again—but it wasn’t until I was a parent, living through a period of similar (if not more radical) upheaval, that I ever sat down and tried to answer that fundamental question: What was it like to live through that? What were they thinking? How did they talk about the war with their friends and family? Were they scared about starting a family? How did they navigate the madness that surrounded them?

I realized I didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. I didn’t need them, necessarily. I know my parents are good people, I know their general stances on civic matters, I wasn’t trying to give them any sort of “what side did you fight for in the war?” purity test. I just didn’t know what it was like for them to live through it. And I felt like that was something I should.

Thus I vowed, back in February 2018, not to leave my children wondering. Confronted with the Trump era, and realizing that we were in fact living through a pivot moment in history (albeit one I did think would end more quickly than this one actually has), I decided to make it clear to my kids, if they were to look back at all of this in 30 years, where their dad stood. I wanted there to be no doubt.

The writer Jonathan V. Last has said that “any institution not explicitly anti-Trump will eventually become useful to Trump,” something I’ve believed from the beginning: Trump is such a uniquely grotesque figure that trying to rationalize him, to talk yourself into him because you think he’ll lower your taxes or your grocery bill, or because you don’t like Democrats, or whatever excuse you’re giving yourself, in the end, doesn’t make you any different than that guy who dresses himself up in the Trump’s Wall costume. (Still.) I didn’t know then whether Trump would be the signature figure of my kids’ lives as Americans or just, as one friend put it, “a weird, foggy memory from their childhood,” but when they looked back at this time, there had to be no question in their minds: Dad was against him.

Trump turned out to be quite helpful in this regard, because he so consistently did things that were the total opposite of how I would want my children to navigate the world. His values turned out to be exact contrasts to the ones my parents raised me to have and pass along to the next generation.

Being straightforward with people. Paying your debts. Admitting mistakes. Not putting yourself above anyone else. (In my mom’s words, “not thinking your shit don’t stink.”) Welcoming people who are different than you. Treating others with respect. Not pretending like you have all the answers. Working hard, showing up, turning your work in on time, always doing your best. Striving for excellence and victory but, when you fall short, accepting defeat with grace and dignity while dusting yourself off and getting up to try again. Keeping those you love close, and letting them know how much they mean to you. Apologizing. Smiling. Laughing. Displaying an elementary enjoyment of life. Eating the occasional vegetable—you know, a whole bunch of good stuff.

Trump, in many ways, has become sort of this family’s Goofus from Highlights magazine: If you see him doing something, it is safe to assume that the correct thing to do is the opposite. That overarching principle doesn’t cover exactly everything. Parenting is infinitely complicated—every day is a new challenge.

But as a shorthand, when-in-doubt umbrella? It covers quite a bit.

I am not a perfect father—I am not anything close. I make mistakes constantly, and I have no doubt that these mistakes will have lasting effects. My children will surely be complaining about me for the next 25 years of their lives like everybody complains about their parents. But thinking about what my children will think of their father, of how he handles himself in public and in private, of what behavior he hopes they will model, may be the signature concern of my life. It is in many ways the primary thing I think about. It’s honestly the main reason I don’t spend much time on social media, and rarely post anything. Any time I write something, or make anything public, I ask myself: What will my kids think of this if they come across it in 40 years? Trying to make that thing, whatever it is, something they’re proud of, or at least not actively embarrassed of, is as clear a guiding light as I can come up with. Imagine researching your parents’ lives after they are gone and realizing they spent most of their time arguing with bots on the Internet, or shitposting, or thanking car dealers like they were soldiers. They’ve got to be able to look back and see something good. They need not to wonder.

This strikes me as one of the most important things a parent can do: Model the behavior that they’d like their children to value and aspire to. After all: There’s no one they’re watching more closely.

One of the crazier aspects of watching those ensnared in the Signal War Plans controversy this week—a controversy that was of course entirely self-ensnared—is seeing how wildly everyone involved has flailed in the aftermath. How did they react to the revealing of an obvious, dunderheaded mistake? They lied. Then they attacked. When those lies were revealed, they lied again, and attacked again. Then they played dumb. Then they lied again. Then they attacked again.

None of it has helped. The Signal scandal, in a way that vastly exceeds the hopeful “maybe people will notice that these lunatics are trying to claim the Jackie Robinson story has nothing to do with race” example I used just last week, has crossed over to just about every American at this point in a way that is deeply uncomplimentary to those involved, largely because everyone is involved in some sort of group chat or another and every single one of these group chats made a joke about it this week. I’ve been getting a lot of use out of the prayer emoji followed by the flame emoji, myself.

Every single one of these people has made a fool out of themselves this week in a way that is can be grueling, but undeniably entertaining, and even satisfying, to watch. (I particularly enjoyed when Tulsi Gabbard, mere minutes after the Atlantic released the full transcript of the war chat and revealed most of her testimony the day before to be clearly perjured, suddenly realized that she had “misremembered.”) But I do not want to be smug about it either. These are human beings too. And they have kids—kids who are watching.

National security advisor Mike Waltz, the man who made the ill-fated and historic decision to add one of the most decorated journalists in the profession to a Signal chat in which he and the President’s war council discussed specific plans for a bombing on their iPhones, went on television shortly after the story broke and, rather than admit to his incredible blunder, call the man who reported the story “the bottom scum of journalists,” float a conspiracy theory and accuse the Atlantic of hacking his phone. Waltz has two children, a teenage daughter and a three-year-old son. Someday those children are going to look back at all this. Their father is a 27-year Army veteran, a Green Beret and a four-time Bronze Star winner. There was a time when that could be what he’d be remembered by them the most for, the behavior they could model. But the signature moment of his career, of probably his life, will be him standing up in front of the whole world after an absurd mistake and, rather than taking responsibility, lying and blaming someone else. Over and over and over. The kids will notice. They will know. We all will.

Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has arguably been worse in response to this—he continues to lie relentlessly about it and has even floated the idea of bringing charges against the Atlantic. Hegseth has seven children. Those children are all going to be adults someday. What will they think when this is over? When they see their father sacrifice his dignity, his honor, any semblance of truth? When they realize their father threw away everything, including their family name, in service of one man—that man? Someday they will live in a different time than right now. They will look back at this as history. And they will see how their father handled it. And they will feel shame. Unless the only real thing he has to teach them is, in fact, that shamelessness.

I do not know what my children will think when they look back at me, during this time, years from now. I’m sure their perspective will be very different than mine. But I hope they know I was doing my best. I hope they know I tried to model the behavior I would want from them. I hope they know they were all I was ever thinking about. We will not always live in these tumultuous times. How we acted during them, however, is going to going to be passed along, in every possible way, to those that come after us—to the people we care about most. It is going to last forever.

Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this week, in order of what I believe to be their quality.

1. Your Men’s Sweet 16 Rootability Rankings, New York. I will never turn down an opportunity to go after Bruce Pearl.

2. Your Women’s Sweet 16 Rootability Rankings, New York. As is tradition, because my deadline was a day before the Women’s Sweet 16 was set, we put the women’s rootability rankings in the comments. Free content!

3. The Tragedy of Mike Trout, The Washington Post. The greatest player of his generation, already ignored and forgotten.

4. Seven Standout Moments From Opening Day, MLB.com. Fun first day!

5. The Glories of Opening Day, MLB.com. My annual curtain-raiser.

6. Opening Day Starting Pitcher Matchup Rankings, MLB.com. It’s hilarious that the White Sox and Angels opened the season against each other.

PODCASTS

Grierson & Leitch, we discussed “Snow White,” “Black Bag,” “Opus” and “Magazine Dreams.”

Morning Lineup, I did Monday’s and Friday’s shows.

Seeing Red, Bernie Miklasz and I did a big season preview.

HOW CAN I HELP?

As established, we’re compiling the stories of individual people who are trying to find ways to make the world a little bit better in whatever fashion they can, no matter how small. Send yours to howcanonepersonhelp@gmail.com. Today’s comes from Pablo in Indianapolis:

I'm not sure where it comes from, but I always sense this strong need to clean up after myself in public and even clean up other people's stuff. Like it might be making sure I get my empty popcorn container, drinks, etc. at a game or picking up a used paper towel in the bathroom (or, worst case, picking up someone else's dog poop when I'm walking my own dog). It's such a little thing, especially in places where there are janitors and people paid to clean it up, but it always just feels like something that inherently makes their day 0.1% easier.

I have plenty of other ideas - this is something I think about a lot - but the cleaning up is the one that immediately jumped to mind.

We have gotten so many of these already. Please send me yours.

LONG STORY YOU SHOULD READ THIS MORNING … OF THE WEEK

“An Ingénue’s Intimate Snapshots of the New Hollywood,” Michael Schulman, The New Yorker. A young actress in the early ‘70s took her Polaroid camera everywhere and photographed everyone when they were so young, before everything. Now she has released a book of them. I could look at these photos forever.

ONGOING LETTER-WRITING PROJECT!

This is your reminder that if you write me a letter and put it in the mail, I will respond to it with a letter of my own, and send that letter right to you! It really happens! Hundreds of satisfied customers!

Write me at:

Will Leitch
P.O. Box 48
Athens GA 30603

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO

“I Need a Lover,” John Mellencamp. It is prime car-washing season, and this is the ultimate cash-the-car-in-the-driveway song. This is also an all-time “song that will get me screaming its chorus every time it’s played” song. A soundtrack to my youth would have a whole bunch of John Mellencamp on it.

I’ve also had the hair of just about every member of the band in that lip-syncing video above.

Remember to listen to The Official Will Leitch Newsletter Spotify Playlist, featuring every song ever mentioned in this section. Let this drive your listening, not the algorithm!

Also, there is an Official The Time Has Come Spotify Playlist.

Also, currently working on a Lloyd McNeil’s Last Ride Playlist.

I am about to drive to South Carolina for a youth soccer game. Parenting is a never-ending adventure. Oh, and go Cardinals:

It is good for the soul to have baseball back.

Have a great weekend, all.

Best,
Will