Man, I had a dream

I was running through a field, because of course these dreams always begin with running through a field when all of a sudden the visage of George Washington appeared before me.

“You cannot be president!” the giant Washington ghost boomed at me.

“Why not?” I asked. “I couldn’t be any worse than what we’ve had the past couple decades.”

“That one joke will carry you only so far,” Washington warned. “I say to thee that thou hast not the Right Stuff to be president.”

“Well, I don’t have an Ivy League education, if that’s what you’re talking about,” I answered. “But neither did many of the great presidents like Lincoln or Jefferson. Wait, The College of William and Mary isn’t Ivy League is it?”

“No, it is not,” Washington’s images shimmered in the light. “But that is not why I am here before you.”

“What is it then, President Washington?” I asked.

“If you think that you can be president, you must first best me in the field of battle!”

“What? Fight you? I can’t do that, you’re George Washington, the father of our country.”

“Then you will perish!” With a snapping sound, Washington roared into the air. His colonial vestments tore off with a thunderous crash and were replaced by, uh, I don’t know, it was lion taming gear or something. The ground shook as his feet crashed back down to it. He looked at me with a glint in his eye and smiled. The smile made a sound something like a blade being unsheathed from a scabbard.

“I said I don’t want to fight you!” I yelled out loudly, but it felt like the wind was rushing past my ears and the first president was quickly in front of me and swinging a colossal roundhouse right.

With a crashing sound resembling that of a mountain being dropped on top of a garbage truck filled with anvils, the man who is honored on quarters and one dollar bills sent me flying with a mighty punch from his meaty fist.

I flew backwards for what seemed to be miles (or at least this version of me did, for this was all a dream – or was it?) until I landed in the National Museum of American History. Washington was quickly on top of me though and sent me hurling through the walls and into an exhibit containing Dorothy’s ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz.

“If you don’t pay attention to history,” he warned. “You will be his, you will be his, you will be history!”

“Alright, that’s it, old man!” I kicked myself up onto my feet and retaliated with a powerful punch of my own. Washington flew through a wall and crashed into an exhibit featuring the Star Spangled Banner.

“Come one!” he urged with a wicked smile. “Bring it!”

“I like what you’re saying, but you’re a little off -Key,” I said as I smashed him into a sousaphone and bass drum. “Get it? Off-key as in Francis Scott Key, author of the Star Spangled Banner!”

“I like it,” Washington wiped a dab of blood from the corner of his mouth. “But you’re doing too much talking!”

“You’re not going to do much talking when I’m through with you,” I growled as I punched him in the jaw. A wooden tooth flew out.

Washington dove into me and we both flew from that exhibit and into a bookcase filled with dusty texts. Books tumbled from their shelves and crashed on top of me.

“Looks like this beat down is long overdue,” the hero of the revolution said smugly as I lay there covered in books. I didn’t stay there long as I rolled away from Washington’s foot stomping down on me and spun back to my feet again.

“You fight pretty well now,” I said. “Too bad you couldn’t fight this well at the Battle of Brandywine and the British garrison at Germantown.”

Washington howled in rage and sent us both flying once again, this time we landed on a small boat on the icy waters of the Delaware River.

“Perhaps you should take a swim,” Washington growled as he pushed my head down in the water. Icy fingers of cold and pain stabbed at my face, but I managed to reverse our positions with a twist.

“You’re the one who’s all wet,” I said as I tossed him into the water.

All was quiet for what seemed endless minutes. I scanned the surface for any movement or signs of George Washington. I shrugged to myself as I saw none, but my attempted shrug was too soon as an arm snapped out of the water and hauled me in.

I felt myself floating to the bottom with Washington floating serenely in front of me.

“You have done well,” he said. “You are worthy.”

“What?” I yelled back through the water.

“I said you have done well!” he shouted. “You are worthy!”

“I still can’t hear you!” I shouted.

“Oh for crying—Here!” he sighed and then snapped his fingers. In a flash, I found myself in the field where I began at the beginning of my dream. “I said that you are worthy.”

“OK, cool,” I said, breathing heavily from the ordeal. “What am I worthy of?”

“You are worthy of the Strength of Washington,” our first president said and an energy leapt out from him and entered me.

I felt the Strength of Washington surge through my body. At least, my dream body because this is all just a dream, isn’t it?