Still a Man Hears What He Wants to Hear and Disregards the Rest

I am worried. I am worried because I know what I heard and saw last night is not what millions of other Americans witnessed. I am reminded of the line from the Simon and Garfunkel song, The Boxer: "still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."
 

What did those who support Donald Trump hear last night? What did those who are undecided, or maybe contemplating a third party vote or just sitting this one out, hear? How much will their immediate responses be amended by what they read in the paper this morning, by what their colleagues at work inform them, by what the talking head tells them they really saw, even if they never noticed?
 

I turn to my newspaper, my cable network station for confirmation, for reassurance, for fortification. But there are millions upon millions who mock my choices, find them reprehensible and of less than no value. And they have more than ample ammunition at their fingertips to validate their belief and to assure them, no matter what I thought I witnessed last night, that their man, Donald Trump, was magnificent and in his full glory.
 

I won't know the temperature of this country for a few days, until the next set of polls instructs me as to whether my ears and eyes lied to me, whether Ms Clinton was presidential or wonkish, astute or acerbic, ready or not to lead this nation. I won't know for a few days whether Mr. Trump was a consummate liar, vague and unprepared, defensive and annoying, or if he was none of these but persuasive and thoughtful, demonstrative and defiant, and ready to lead this nation.

For many, last night's debate was merely :"A pocket full of mumbles, such are promises. All lies and jests."  I wait to learn if the truths I thought were evident were truly there or but products of a wishful imagination, mere mirage.