Justin Trudeau's Sad and Feckless "A La Recherche du Temps Perdu"

Want to get to the crux of the "real" Justin Trudeau? What makes him tick? Why he is the way he is?

You might think that he's trying to fill the shoes of his papa Pierre, the man who, for reasons that now seem silly and rather bizarre, made the country swoon such that Canadians allowed him to refashion their land into the multiculti Trudeaupia it is today. But, as Jonathan Kay, ghost-writer of young Justin's memoirs informs us in a piece that appeared in yesterday's National Post under the headline "The Trudeau I Know" (you can find the piece online at The Walrus, which Kay edits, under a slightly different title), the Liberal leader is in fact animated by his mother's abandonment.

As Kay tells the story, following his parents' split, little Justin used to wait at the top of stairs for his flaky mom's visits, which never came. And it seems he's still waiting:

You can find the real Justin right there, at the top of those stairs, playing his record player. He’s someone who desperately wants to do the right thing. Who believes that what he does and says can set things right; that he can heal people and relationships; that he can make people like him and—a sad fantasy for many children of divorce—one another.

Yikes. It's like Barack Obama all over again, only this time it's Dreams From My Mother.

Don't you wish these abandoned ones would work out their issues in therapy instead of imposing them on the populace? I know I do. And here's the letter I wrote the Post (it's in today's paper) wherein I say as much:

The real Trudeau

Re: The Trudeau I Know, Jonathan Kay, Oct. 5. 

It is immaterial to me whether or not Liberal Leader Justin Trudeau received enough hugs from his mom when he was but a sprout. The Trudeau I know would send our national debt skyrocketing into the stratosphere Barack Obama-style, and would swiftly frog-march Canada back into step with the United Nations’ all-consuming negative focus on Israel. 

As for the prospect of Trudeau going mano-a-mano with the Vladimir Putins of the world: sorry, but that would look a lot like Bambi versus Godzilla. And I can guarantee he isn’t going to garner much affection — or, for that matter, respect — in that arena.