George Bush and John McCain share a peculiar habit: they often introduce their fathers as a way of introducing themselves--even before they mention their wives, their children or the reason they are running for President. With Bush, the resemblance is so uncanny, his face does all the talking, even before he reminds you of how he got it. "When it comes to picking parents," he likes to say, "I did a fabulous job." McCain for his part presents his best-selling book as his coat of arms: Faith of My Fathers, he says, is the story of three generations of flawed men who found redemption in the service of their country. Now he is calling on voters to join him for one last mission.
One father waits in the wings, obsessed with his son's crusade, dreaming of restoration; the other lies buried in Arlington National Cemetery. But both men are eternally present in this race. In the Bush and McCain clans, expectations are stamped in the genetic code, assumed at birth, resented in adolescence like hair that won't lie flat or legs too short for basketball. Each generation seemed to raise the stakes ever higher. McCain, whose family traces its martial roots back to Charlemagne, entered the Navy as the son and grandson of four-star admirals. Bush, whose family is distantly connected to the Queen of England, entered national politics the son of a President and grandson of a Senator. Both men were raised by absent fathers and strong mothers and delight in recounting their rebellion against the impossible standards they faced, even as they walked in their fathers' footsteps like children leaping from one large bootprint to the next in deep snow.
Those journeys in long shadows are the scrapbook of this race. "Oh, Dad," McCain said wistfully, looking out the window of his bus last Friday, when asked what his father would have thought about this moment. "To be candid, he wouldn't understand. He was a military man from the time he was 16. The saddest day of his life was the day he left the Navy. So I'm sure he would be proud, but I think there would be some of it he would just not feel familiar with." Bush doesn't have that problem. His father knows all about life-and-death politics--and so does the son.
As he said last week, "I'm a warrior for my dad."
For all the echoes in the McCain and Bush family legacies, one difference screams out as the two men fight their way toward the White House. McCain is eternally willing to talk about his father and grandfather and the burdens and advantages that came with his birthright; he throws credit their way like garlands. In the Bush universe, the subject is a private matter. Indeed, even as he honors his father and worships his example, George W. Bush never misses a chance to insist that what he has accomplished he has done on his own, by his own efforts and talents and grit. He touts his record as a successful businessman without acknowledging how much of his success reflected the financial backing of his father's friends and their desire to be associated with the Bush name. And he stakes his claim to the presidency based on his record as Governor of Texas, even though the fat war chest and thick stack of endorsements may owe something to his birth certificate as well as his resume.