I'm different. And proud of it.

I live in a weird neighborhood. Here in Minnesota. On the shore of Forest Lake. A nice neighborhood. But weird. We are a collection of weird people. An interesting blend. Rich and not so rich. For one thing, there's me. Amazing that I even fit in. Because I'm a left leaning socialist. A communist sympathizer. And virtually all of my neighbors are Republicans. Radical Republicans. They vote for the likes of Michele Bachmann. And some of 'em are devout, unquestioning, obedient Catholics. Especially on social issues. In comparison, I'm a heathen. A free-thinker. But I suspect they think of me as harmless. As demented. When I know full well that they are the ones that have gone bonkers. In a sense, the neighborhood is an asylum. An insane asylum. Full of crazy people. And an unusual mix. Almost impossible to carry on an intelligent conversation. About politics and social and economic issues. We really don't understand each other. Because it's difficult to understand crazy people. Three doors down from me lives a multi-millionaire. He's attempted to sell his mansion. Had it listed for $4.5 million. And two doors down, he has a son that built a mansion, too. Not quite as extravagant as his dad's. But still, it's been for sale ever since it was built. Listed for $2.3 million. The son never occupied the place. Moved to northern Minnesota instead. Anyway, I live in sort of a shack. At least compared to the mansions. I'm considered riff-raff. Far too poor to be a Republican. But still, there are some relatively impoverished Republicans in the neighborhood. Similar to me. People who aren't even millionaires. And the weird thing is that they still vote Republican. Because it's the thing to do. Makes them feel like they fit. Makes them feel like true blue Americans. I tend to taunt them. Poke fun. When really, I shouldn't. I know. I know. I should be kind to crazy people. Even to people that cut off their noses to spite their faces. People who vote against their own best interests. They flagelate themselves. Don't know whether it's stupidity. Or masochism. But I respect their right to be weird and crazy. Takes all kinds of people to make up this world. Makes life interesting. An adventure. I've just returned from another part of the world. Very different from my neighborhood. Spent the winter with my Italian true love. In a city called Carbonia. In the southwest corner of the island of Sardinia. In the Mediterranean Sea. Really, it's Paradise. For more reason than the wonderful beaches. And winters in which there's no snow or freezing temperatures. And a main street named after a communist persecuted by Mussolini in the 1930s. I feel comfortable in Sardinia. Doesn't seem weird. I fit. I like the social and political climate. Of course, the economic climate could be better. But still, one shouldn't expect to have everything. I'd rather settle for peace and tranquility. And love. I'm in love with my Italian true love. She's even gonna come and live with me this summer. In my weird neighborhood. In Forest Lake. And I'm gonna hoist the Sardinian and Italian flags. Not sure that'll go over very big. My neighbors fly American flags. It's the Repubican thing to do. But I'm a different kind of American. And proud of it. --Jim Broede