To the families of special needs children all across this country I have a message for you: for years you have sought to make America a more welcoming place for your sons and daughters, and I pledge to you that if we're elected, you will have a friend, an advocate, in The White House.
If I came in to recruit your son, I would tell you, your wife, and your son, that I will be the most demanding coach your son can play for.
You can love someone like your son, even if he's not your biological son, and you can love someone like your father, even if he's not your biological father.
It's much worse to read criticism about your son than yourself.
Your sons weren't made to like you. That's what grandchildren are for.
The biggest thrill a ballplayer can have is when your son takes after you. That happened when my Bobby was in his championship Little League game. He really showed me something. Struck out three times. Made an error that lost the game. Parents were throwing things at our car and swearing at us as we drove off. Gosh, I was proud.
A war is justified if you're willing to send your son. If you're not willing to send your son, how do you send someone else's?
There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose- red grasses and you- in your apron hurrying to catch- say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that put wings at your heels, at your knees.
My diagnosis," he said "for better or worse, is that your son is the result of an old pharaoh's curse.
Mother, whose heart hung humble as a button the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind.
A story went the rounds about a San Franciscan white matron who refused to sit beside a Negro civilian on the streetcar, even after he made room for her on the seat. Her explanation was that she would not sit beside a draft dodger who was a Negro as well. She added that the least he could do was fight for his country the way her son was fighting on Iwo Jima. The story said that the man pulled his body away from the window to show an armless sleeve. He said quietly and with great dignity, "Then ask your son to look around for my arm, which I left over there.
If you had to chose one half of your son, which one would it be?" What kind of a question is that?!" No need to snap. It was just a question.
I want your opinion on the best way to proceed. (Eli) I’d start by killing your son and his crew of idiots before their stupidity spreads to anyone else and infects them. (Varyk)
The constitution does not recognize different classes of citizenship based on time spent living in the country. I am a citizen, with the same rights as your son, or you. As a citizen, and as a student, I am protesting the tone of this lesson as racist, intolerant, and xenophobic.
Ah, bless you, Sister, may all your sons be bishops.
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