The moment that I picked Deva up and cradled her in my arms, I was a changed person. Unlike many folks, I had never wanted the responsibility of children. I always figured that other people were better parents than I could ever be, and that it was just not something for me. When I held that tiny little girl, swaddled in layers of cloth, I felt the powerful protective instincts of millions of years of evolution sweep over me. Deva’s mother, Rachel, determined that she wanted to raise Deva to think of me as “Dad” and this seemed to work fairly well since Deva’s biological father basically disappeared to Canada and saw her only a single time shortly after her birth. I know he had his own life to live, and that is not for me to judge.

I fell in love with Deva, as a dad, and she took to me as well. I was the one she would usually call out for when she was sick. I was the one that read her bedtime stories, and typically drove her to daycare. As the years passed, when I came home from work, she would grab my hand and insist that I join her in playing with blocks, or her dolls and toy castle, carry her like I was a horse, all of the silly stuff that you do to make kids happy. Rachel used to call Deva a “daddy’s girl” because she would run to meet me when I got home from work, she would demand to go with me to the store, she would try to help me cook, she would even try to help me clean the house.

Sadly, when Deva was 5 years old, her mother took off and left me here. She initially encouraged me to keep in touch with Deva, and I would visit or call when I was allowed to do so. Eventually, for whatever reason, Deva’s mother Rachel cut off contact. Finally I discovered that Deva wasn’t even living with her mom, having been taken in by her paternal grandmother. I tried to reach out to her, but Rachel refused. I still try to reach out to Deva on holidays and her birthday, but her mom seems determined to block this.

Anyway, Deva, I tried again this year to get your mom to let me see you in person, or even just talk to you on the phone, and she ignored the request. I hope that someday you will at least know that I tried. I hope that you have had a happy birthday today, and that everything is going well for you.

And so, I am serious. How many teabaggers are going to vote for a Tea Party candidate? I suspect there won’t be many. Is there even such a thing as a Tea Party candidate? As an outsider watching them on TV, it sure looks to me like they are being played by the Republicans, who seem to be their primary event speakers. Or maybe they aren’t being played by the Republicans. Maybe they are playing themselves, pretending to be something new and different while actually just continuing to be the same old Republican grassroots they have always been.

“They say there’s enough religion in the world to make men hate each other, but not enough to make them love.”—Louis Cyphre, Angel Heart

“We have enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.”—Jonathan Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects. Collected by Pope and Swift. Found in Spectator No. 459.

I cannot believe that today Brittany Murphy died of a heart attack at only 32 years of age. She was such a beautiful girl and a real joy to watch in movies such as Sin City. Condolences to her family and her fans around the world.

Picture used without permission, for commentary purposes only. No challenge to copyright is implied.