Before I get into the suggestion I just have to mention that on my way home from my improv show, I saw a guy wearing a NY Rangers jersey that had the name Trump on it with the number 45. The man wearing it was built like a high school wrestling coach and had a shaved head, so, I don’t think it was ironic. I’m pretty liberal but anyone who would put a vanity Obama on a sports jersey is just a weirdo.

I do remember once, though, in Washington DC, I saw a kid who was wearing a Manchester United jersey and the name on the back was Malcolm X. So, cosmically, it all balances out.

One other thing: this morning walking out of the subway and I noticed that the guy in front of me a few steps up was wearing his Fitbit around his ankle like a dude on house arrest. I just thought that was funny.

The word proud doesn’t make me think of much. “Pride” does but that wasn’t the suggestion. Pride makes me think of gay pride and the rainbow flag and also of “Pride (In the Name of Love)” by U2 and one of the seven deadly sins.

But proud? What does it mean to be proud? To be proud of one’s accomplishments, to be proud of one’s child, to be too proud to admit that one is wrong.

Some people long to hear, “I’m proud of you,” from their parents. The one thing that I never had to worry about as an only child (or one raised as an only child) was my parents’ support. In fact, I may have gotten too much, so much that now unless I’m praised I think that I must be doing something wrong.

I’m going to cut it off there for tonight. I have therapy tomorrow where I can dig into that chestnut above without boring you folks.

And perhaps it goes without mentioning but I was too proud not to write a blog post tonight.