(The following is imaginary – or perhaps not?)
Medal’s Monetary Value: Unknown.
Medal’s Value to Me: None.
If only I’d been as brave as Bill Belichick:
But I wasn’t.
Despite the fact that I loathed Trump, I agreed to accept the Presidential Medal of Freedom from him.
It’s heady stuff, being told that a president wants to give you the nation’s highest civilian honor.
I pictured myself in the Oval Office, surrounded by the press, and figured I could – metaphorically – hold my nose while Trump draped the ribbon and medal around my neck.
So I did. And he did.
And there were stories all over the media, and I enjoyed reading the coverage and looking at the photos and videos.
And pretending Trump wasn’t in any of them.
Pretending that he was John F. Kennedy, who established the award. Or Barack Obama – that would have been something. Or Lyndon Johnson or George W. Bush or…
I confess I’ve shaken my head over some of the various presidents’ choices of recipients, and I expect plenty of people shook their heads when I was a recipient.
I’ll leave that for history to judge.
For now, I’ll judge only myself, for not speaking the truth then:
That I’d be honored to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
But not from Trump’s hands.
I’m reminded of a 2018 book title: Everything Trump Touches Dies.
He touched me when he put the medal on, and I cringe when I think of it. Shook my hand, all that stuff.
When I left, I was tempted to stand on the White House steps and ask someone to hose me down with disinfectant.
As for selling the medal…
It’s been sitting in a drawer since the day I received it. I don’t take it out and look at it, and I sure don’t talk about it.
The medal did have my name engraved on the back, but no worries.
I removed that – it’s gone.
Just like Trump will be gone from office on January 20.