I’d sprain my ankle if it meant getting an up close look at some tea party protesters.

President Obama came to Holland, Michigan this week. That’s right, B.O. himself caught wind of the Dutch frenzy that permeates the hamburgers in this town of non-risque nightgowns and large family portraits. Though he was a few days late for the massive whole-town world cup cheering, orange-wearing, and street boozing that didn’t happen at all but should have when the real Holland played in the finals last Sunday, he did arrive in time for my Thursday work day. Our leader with the unfortunate initials flew Air Force One into Gerald R. Ford International Airport (sorry Mr. President, this one is taken) and then took Marine One to Tulip City (what else) airport.

I’m glad the guy has gusto. We are on the map now for a new electric car battery plant that is about to break ground, and he had no problem calling out our local representative that blocked his efforts along the way but showed up for the ribbon cutting and sampling of what I’m sure were fine Michigander appetizers.

I didn’t get invited to (but was probably on the B-list for) the selective-audience event, but I was in a meeting in a room with a window when someone noticed the president’s helicopter fly overhead. With my neck pre-craned, I scrambled to the glass with my colleagues to get a look at a hunk of metal in the sky.

Everything else happened in slow motion. I lurched forward, head aimed at the clouds, shoulder and chin leading me on a trajectory to success. I can’t be sure of what happened next. A miscalculation or an interception? A stumble or a trip? Accidental or deliberate, it doesn’t matter how many times I replay it in my head. My body was suddenly careened into the chest of a co-worker, absorbed, and released. Newton and his laws took control and I bounced off said co-worker and missed my chance of seeing the underside of the vehicle that probably contained my President.

This is the end of my story about my visit with Barack Obama. A few weeks ago, I did an extra lap around a block on my way home from work because I thought I saw a tea party gathering. Why else would a crowd of people gather together? I think I’m worried that I’ve become numb to Holland. Do I forget what Thai food tastes like? Have my ears fallen into harmony with the flat ‘A’? We have none of the trendy au naturale frozen yogurt bars that are probably now out of style everywhere else, and vegetarians are eaten as appetizers. Does this bother me anymore? I’m starting to get twitchy and complacent. I need something to make this place real again.

Maybe I’ll stub my toe on the way to Wal-Mart.

On display in downtown Holland. I wonder if each sub-family picked their own color?