Free We Are Still Married by Garrison Keillor

bleeding hearts: basically a liberal is a person who knows you very well and loves you very very much, perhaps more than you deserve.
    Who wanted you to be aware of the hungry children in China as you played with the food on your plate?
    Who taught you to take turns on the swings and share your cake with other children and made you feel guilty for being such a greedy selfish little child?
    Who taught you to be decent to children whom you despised?
    Who, when you lost the game and incurred the silent wrath and contempt of Dad, took you into her arms and said she loved you?
    Who could possibly be more liberal than that?
    M is for Minorities and helpless,
O is Obligation to the poor,
T is Taking money from the greedy,
H is Helping beggars at our door,
E of course is Eleanor our Mother,
R is Reagan’s mom, the lovely Nell.
A fine old Christian liberal and a lady—
He kicks her down the stairs, but what the hell.
    The old lady lay face up on the dank cellar floor, stunned and dizzy. A Sunday afternoon and she had been fixing pot roast and potatoes in the kitchen and then—It all happened so fast: the sudden blows from her two sons, the long terrible fall backward down the steps like in a nightmare, her hands grasping for the railing as she slid half sideways and then turned a complete somersault and banged headfirst on the concrete. She couldn’t see. Her neck felt like it might be broken, and also her right wrist. She could taste blood. There seemed to be a loose tooth in her mouth. Her head started to pulse with pain. She lifted her left hand and touched her forehead. A dent there, and something wet. A radio was playing upstairs. She could hear loud breathing. Her dress was gathered up above her knees, and as she tried to straighten it she saw, standing in the light at the top of the stairs, arm in arm, Ron and George, laughing.
    â€œGuess we showed you!”
    She raised her head. What had she said to make them so angry? She certainly was sorry, whatever it was. Had she been too hard on them about how they ought to attend church? Had she nagged them too often about doing their homework and their Boy Scout projects? She didn’t mean to be a scold. She moved her lips, Ronnie, George, but no sound came out. She struggled to her knees. George took two steps down and spat at her.
    â€œPtew. Guess you learned a lesson! Guess you won’t be buttin’ inna my bidness, Ma! Huh, Ron? Guess you won’t be tellin’ me what to do for a while, huh!”
    The pain in her head was deafening, and the words wouldn’t come out. Oh my dear boys forgive me for provoking you to anger. But no matter what you do—if you kill me and throw my body in a ditch and rip out my heart—remember that with the last beat of my heart I will always love you. A liberal’s love can never be less. Never, no matter what you do.
    â€œKinda weak on defense, ain’t ya, Ma? Ha ha ha.” With the last ounce of strength in her battered aching body, she hoisted herself to her feet.
    â€œMother! Your dress!”
    She looked down and saw that her blue knit dress had fallen down in a heap around her ankles, leaving her clad in a black one-piece spandex bodysuit she didn’t know she possessed and also a pair of black knee-high steel-toe kangaroo combat boots with white laces and red and blue sequins. Her hair was long and snarly, not in a bun like she usually wore it, and in her right hand she held a long riding crop. Across her bosom were silver-lame letters two inches high that spelled “ONE HELLUVA WOMAN.”
    â€œMother?”
    â€œDon’t say another word,” she said, “or I’ll bust your heads.”
    â€œMom?”
    She placed her right foot on the first stair, keeping her weight nicely balanced, her eyes fastened on the bottom youth as he shrank back whimpering. She shook her head slowly and smiled and licked her lips. She grabbed both banisters and rocked up and down on the