Now that the countdown to 2012 is officially underway, I have a prediction: I believe the Republican candidate for president in 2012 will be Marco Rubio, who was elected to the U.S. Senate on Tuesday by the people of Florida.
I heard him on the radio on Wednesday evening, and he’s perfect.
He’s young – he’ll turn 40 in May – and reasonably attractive (by suburban heterosexual standards anyhow). For college he won a football scholarship, so he’s no pussy. He’s married to a former Miami Dolphins cheerleader, which is awesome, and together they have four children, meaning he can legitimately get misty eyed when regurgitating the sermon about how wrong it is to pass Obama's debt down to our children, our grandchildren and beyond because, having shown zero regard for reproductive responsibility, he will, theoretically anyhow, be represented in greater numbers in future generations of citizens who will, also theoretically, pay taxes
After going to law school, he served in the Florida legislature (for two years as its speaker) so he understands people. He used to go around the state holding what he called “idearaisers,” and based on those events he wrote a book called 100 Innovative Ideas for Florida’s Future. He’s conservative and he’s a Republican, so he’s really good at simplifying things and, in the process, really connecting with people just like you and me.
When he speaks, he does so in that flat yet sing-songy Republican cadence. In a way that’s probably similar to what a deer experiences when the rifle is silently aimed at his head or his heart on what started out as an ordinary Saturday morning, I recognize this vocal shift instantly. Describing it is more challenging, but here’s my attempt: It’s condescending, but in a circuitous way. It's a way of speaking that reaches out to the ear and then, drawing on the full aresenal of horsepower behind tone and inflection, invites the ear to join the voice in speaking to anyone who happens to fall into the category of “other” with one side or another of the lower lip slightly upturned.
Thanks to NBC’s insertion of itself into a state election, he already has national name recognition, and in 23 months and three weeks Marco Rubio will have served in the U.S. Senate for close to two years, and you know as well as I do how his supporters will respond to any suggestion that he doesn’t have enough experience.
But, speaking of comparisons to Obama, here’s the best part: Marco Rubio is not white. He’s Cuban American. That makes him a Latino!
Marco Rubio will certainly face some obstacles, but I believe he’ll overcome them all, and beautifully. As a Tea Party candidate, he is beholden, of course, to Mama Grizzly, but by the time 2012 rolls around, she will have realized that it’s time for her to do what real women do, which is to shut up, offer cream and sugar with the coffee and let the menfolk do what they were put on this earth to do. Otherwise, she’d be veering into feminist territory, and that’s an expressway to Lezzy Land. The second big challenge for Marco Rubio is his religion. He’s a Roman Catholic by birth and breeding, but he and his family now do their magical thinking at an Evangelical church, so, in terms of fundraising and the inherent rightness of bringing more babies into the world, I think that could easily be turned into an advantage for him. Plus, it’s clear as crystal that he is not a Muslim, so we can all rest a bit easier, a bit more peacefully.
Here, though, is the best part of Marco Rubio: his parents are from Cuba. This concerned me initially, with the Tea Party’s hard line on immigration and all, but I’m probably over thinking it. I look to the Marco Rubio people to trot the issue out full throttle with a brass band and lots of fireworks. Marco Rubio truly understands the love of country, the power of patriotism, because he was raised by two people who endured an amazing conflict. They loved Cuba, but with equal fervor they hated Communism, and they hated Communists. Naturally, when Castro took over their hearts were so broken that they came to Miami and, like many of their fellow travelers, became Republicans. I was on the edge of my seat, fearing that those painful labels might ruin an otherwise beautiful scenario: immigrants, illegal immigrants or, the worst, illegals. But my worries were for naught, because Marco Rubio is not the son of immigrants, he is the son of exiles. And that one word alone makes his story one from which we can all draw inspiration.
