A VALENTINE FOR BRETT KAVANAUGH

Around October 18, 2018, I sent this valentine to Brett Kavanaugh, the newly confirmed Supreme Court Justice. I had forgotten all about it, but doing my usual last-minute Valentine shuffle at the florist this morning, it made an appearance from the backroads of my mind. My regular weekly essay will be out over the weekend.

While millions of people teared-up at the heartfelt anger of a man defending his honor and a life well -lived, against unsubstantiated allegations of sexual misconduct thirty-six years ago, pundits and politicians on the left have had nothing but contempt for Judge Brett Kavanaugh.

The New York Times referred to his testimony as a “tirade,” borrowed from Donald Trump’s “playbook on white male anger,” implying that his defense was premeditated, racial, sexist and artificial.

A Democratic member of the Judiciary committee called him “evil.”

CNN observed that if confirmed, he will be remembered as a “politician.” (Like, perhaps all those presidential aspirants on the Judiciary committee).

Try to imagine what it would be like to have lived an exemplary life, and then to be accused of sexual misconduct, drunkenness, exposing oneself, and participating in drugging and gang raping women at a high school party.

I would have thought his enjoyment of beer and parties, and his playing football and basketball in high school, would have humanized him. He’s not just a prep school boy. He’s an all-American kid. A scholar and an athlete. Instead, he’s been demeaned and demonized. Saturday Night Live mocked him.

He has a right to be angry and a right to be hurt.

Consequently, I have a valentine for Judge Kavanaugh.

On the day you arrive at the Supreme Court, the doors will close behind you, drowning out the inevitable protestors. The sound of closing doors will reverberate down the corridors, libraries and offices. And then at last, you can revel in the quiet. You will immerse yourself in it. You will rest in it. Peace will wrap itself around you, caress you and massage you.

You enter your office. You sit at the desk once used by Justice Kennedy. The lights are dim. You are surrounded by shelves of law books, books that have emanated from that skeletal document called the United States Constitution. You shake your head and wonder if there is any hope.

You pour yourself a cup of steaming coffee, munch on a donut or two, and call Alexa for some pleasant music to meld with the quiet. Your heart is beating slower, you even allow a smile to crease your face because from this day forward, some things are certain.

· You will be in this office for the rest of your life.

· You will never have to make a speech, raise money or run a political campaign.

· You will never again have to defend your honor.

· You will never hold a press conference to justify your opinions.

· The judgments you make will affect three hundred and twenty million Americans.

· And you will know something else: you have a long and meaningful life ahead of you.

The quiet in your office is so soothing you wish it would last forever. You raise your head and realize that today is different than yesterday. Yesterday your angry detractors hurled poison darts at you. But today, oh, today is another day. It’s morning.

But it’s also payback time.

You are too much of a gentleman to seek revenge. But every decision you make from a conservative/originalist perspective will be payback. Every five-four decision that might have gone the other way will be payback. You won’t make decisions based on the hell they put you through, but you are not likely to forget it either.

A knock on your office door. Justice Clarence Thomas is standing there. His hair is snowy white, his smile is broad. He is wearing judicial robes. He embraces you. “Brother,” says. “Welcome to the sanctuary.”

Your eyes water. Justice Thomas is nodding as if to say, “I understand, my friend. I’ve walked in your shoes.” No other words need to be spoken.

After Justice Thomas leaves, you sit at your desk and open a file on an upcoming case. You raise your head. The time for pain and tears is over. A steely coldness creeps into your visage.

It’s time to get to work.