Dear Mr. President,
Thank you for the kind and condescending offer to come to your place for a beer or two with my old acguaintance, Dr. Gates. We simply don't get together often enough, what with the time I have to spend on the streets of Cambridge oppressing black men each day.
I appreciate the fact that you've recognized my subordinate place in society and gone out of your way to have the staff prepare an appropriate six pack for my visit. As you are so well aware, we cops tend to go with less sophisticated social beverages than your university friends, but you've tried to make me feel at home. It's just exactly what we Irish cops always like to do on the weekends. Nothing better than sucking up a dozen beers, watching a game on the tube and then going out to beat up a couple of street punks because they aren't the right color.
Unfortunately, I've made plans already for that day so you and Michelle can maybe jet off to Chicago for some quality time with Bill Ayres. I checked my schedule and it looks as though my free time for that visit with you and Doc Gates won't open up until late 2012.
Your friend, Sgt. Crowley
Meanwhile, on the other side of the issue, Professor Gates is reaching out to his constituency with this:
It Isn't About Me
I've got to say that grabbing on that line might be construed as plagiarizing the Messiah's best understatement of the year. It is only a teaching moment if the lesson to be taught is humility, courtesy, and a total abandonment of the attitude of victization by the Doc.
It most definitely is about him.