A Wisconsin mother is furious that her tax dollars helped buy a middle-school textbook that includes a passage from Barack Obama’s speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention — but has no mention of John McCain.

The woman, who spoke to FOXNews.com on the condition of anonymity because she feared business reprisals, became upset after her 13-year-old son told her his advanced English class in Racine, Wis., had read about Barack Obama in a textbook, “McDougal Littell Literature, Grade 8.”

The textbook, published by an arm of Houghton Mifflin Company, focuses on a portion of Obama’s 1995 autobiography, “Dreams From My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance,” in which Obama writes about a month-long visit by his Kenyan father when he was 10 and living in Hawaii.

The 20-page section, which kicks off with a student discussion of “What Makes You Proud?” ends with a portion of Obama’s speech, “Out of Many, One,” at the 2004 Democratic Convention in Boston, and a photo of him there, surrounded by Obama placards.

Obama was running for Senate in Illinois in 2004.

“The kicker was the photo towards the end with Obama and at least eight visible Obama signs, and the one with the Web site on it,” she said. “Obviously, it was the 2004 Web site, but you can still go right to it, and I think that to me was just over the top. It didn’t need to be in there.”

The mother said any mention of Obama should have included passages from other politicians, such as McCain.

“McCain is a prisoner of war — that’s a story in itself,” she said. “Or Dick Cheney’s wife has written children’s stories. Was that in any of their books?”

But she said she’d prefer not to see any politicians in the English text.

“As a taxpayer, we’re paying for these books, and there should not be a story about Obama in this book right now and there should not be a story about McCain in this book,” she said.

Obama’s passage appears in the textbook along with noted authors and thinkers, including Maya Angelou, Isaac Asimov and Emily Dickinson, according to ClassZone.com, which is the online educational supplement to the book.

A representative from the Racine Unified School District said no parent has complained to officials about the text, which is used by students in the district’s eight middle schools. The district has 21,000 students.

Six teachers and three district staff members chose the textbook, district spokeswoman Stephanie Hayden said in a written statement.

“The Racine Unified School District is a multicultural school district with 49 percent of our student body comprising students of color,” the school said in a statement. “Identifying materials that reflect our student population is a priority.

“The selection in question is part of a larger unit centered around the question, ‘If the people within a community accept each others’ difference, how do individuals and their community benefit and prosper?’” the statement continued. “The selections, ‘Dreams of My Father’ and ‘Out of Many, One,’ fit into the curriculum by requiring students to engage in the central question around these and other selections….

“The Racine Unified School District DOES NOT endorse any candidate or political party. The choice of this selection was to provide a contemporary and multicultural figure to explore the unit on community.”

A representative for Houghton Mifflin did not return calls and an e-mail requesting comment.

The mother, who says she’s an independent, contacted the blog “Real Debate Wisconsin” to tell it about the textbook, rather than approach teachers, because she said she didn’t want to jeopardize her son’s grades.

She said she was also angered by Obama’s biography in the textbook that included a passage entitled “A Life of Service,” which said Obama “was offered jobs working for an important judge and in high-powered law firms, but instead he chose to return to Chicago to practice civil-rights law.”

“They had to go into all the details about his ‘life of service’ and how he could have taken a higher paying job … It just doesn’t feel right to me. It’s very political,” the woman said.

Her son, she said, doesn’t understand her concern.

“It worries me that, you know, he’s in eighth grade and already he’s thinking that Obama is just going to win because everybody likes him,” she said. “Why in a school does everybody like him? I’ve got to believe there are kids who like McCain too.”

Mickey Mouse is as American as apple pie, and he has starred in films, TV shows and video games. But apparently he can’t vote.

Florida elections officials rejected Mickey’s application this summer. It is unclear whether Mickey tried to register as a Democrat or a Republican. But the application included a stamped logo of ACORN, the community organizing group that is facing accusations of voter registration fraud.

ACORN — which has a history of voter fraud allegations — acknowledged its logo was on the application but said its workers routinely scan all suspicious applications.

“We don’t think this card came through our system,” Brian Kettenring, ACORN’s head organizer in Florida, told the St. Petersburg Times.

The group says it has signed up to 1.3 million poor and working-class voters this year in a mass registration drive in 18 states. Some of those registration cards have become the focus of fraud investigations in Ohio, Nevada, Connecticut, Missouri, and other states.

Other fraudulent registrations included forms for the starting lineup of the Dallas Cowboys football team.

I woke up a couple of times in the next three or four days. Plasma and blood were being put into me. I became fairly lucid. I was in a room which was not particularly small—about 15 by 15 feet—but it was filthy dirty and at a lower level, so that every time it rained, there’d be about a half inch to an inch of water on the floor. I was not washed once while I was in the hospital. I almost never saw a doctor or a nurse. Doctors came in a couple of times to look at me. They spoke French, not English.

For a guard, I was assigned a 16-year-old kid—right out of the rice fields. His favorite pastime was to sit by my bed and read a book that had a picture in it of an old man with a rifle in his hand sitting on a fuselage of an F-105 which had been shot down. He would point to himself, and slap me and hit me. He had a lot of fun that way. He fed me because both my arms were broken. He would come in with a cup that had noodles and some gristle in it, and fill a spoon and put it in my mouth. The gristle was very hard to chew. I’d get my mouth full after three or four spoonfuls, and I’d be chewing away on it. I couldn’t take any more in my mouth, so he’d just eat the rest himself. I was getting about three or four spoonfuls of food twice a day. It got so that I kind of didn’t give a damn—even though I tried as hard as I could to get enough to eat.

After I had been there about 10 days, a “gook”—which is what we called the North Vietnamese—came in one morning. This man spoke English very well. He asked me how I was, and said, “We have a Frenchman who is here in Hanoi visiting, and would like to take a message back to your family.” Being a little naive at the time—you get smarter as you go along with these people—I figured this wasn’t a bad deal at all, if this guy would come to see me and go back and tell my family that I was alive.

I didn’t know at the time that my name had been released in a rather big propaganda splash by the North Vietnamese, and that they were very happy to have captured me. They told a number of my friends when I was captured, “We have the crown prince,” which was somewhat amusing to me.

“It Looked to Many as if I Had Been Drugged”

They told me that the Frenchman would visit me that evening. About noon, I was put in a rolling stretcher and taken to a treatment room where they tried to put a cast on my right arm. They had great difficulty putting the bones together, because my arm was broken in three places and there were two floating bones. I watched the guy try to manipulate it for about an hour and a half trying to get all the bones lined up. This was without benefit of Novocain. It was an extremely painful experience, and I passed out a number of times. He finally just gave up and slapped a chest cast on me. This experience was very fatiguing, and was the reason why later, when some TV film was taken, it looked to many people as if I had been drugged.

When this was over, they took me into a big room with a nice white bed. I thought, “Boy, things are really looking up.” My guard said, “Now you’re going to be in your new room.”

About an hour later in came a guy called “The Cat.” I found out later that he was the man who up until late 1969 was in charge of all the POW camps in Hanoi. He was a rather dapper sort, one of the petty intelligentsia that run North Vietnam. He was from the political bureau of the Vietnamese Workers Party.

The first thing he did was show me Col. John Flynn’s identification card—now Gen. John Flynn—who was our senior officer. He was shot down the same day I was. “The Cat” said—through an interpreter, as he was not speaking English at this time—”The French television man is coming.” I said, “Well, I don’t think I want to be filmed,” whereupon he announced, “You need two operations, and if you don’t talk to him, then we will take your chest cast off and you won’t get any operations.” He said, “You will say that you’re grateful to the Vietnamese people, and that you’re sorry for your crimes.” I told him I wouldn’t do that.

Finally, the Frenchman came in, a man named Chalais—a Communist, as I found out later—with two photographers. He asked me about my treatment and I told him it was satisfactory. “The Cat” and “Chihuahua,” another interrogator, were in the background telling me to say that I was grateful for lenient and humane treatment. I refused, and when they pressed me, Chalais said, “I think what he told me is sufficient.”

Then he asked if I had a message for my family. I told him to assure my wife and others of my family that I was getting well and that I loved them. Again, in the background, “The Cat” insisted that I add something about hoping that the war would be over soon so that I could go home. Chalais shut him up very firmly by saying that he was satisfied with my answer. He helped me out of a difficult spot.

Chalais was from Paris. My wife later went to see him and he gave her a copy of the film, which was shown on CBS television in the U. S.

As soon as he left, they put me on the cart and took me back to my old dirty room.

After that, many visitors came to talk to me. Not all of it was for interrogation. Once a famous North Vietnamese writer—an old man with a Ho Chi Minh beard—came to my room, wanting to know all about Ernest Hemingway. I told him that Ernest Hemingway was violently anti-Communist. It gave him something to think about.

Others came in to find out about life in the United States. They figured because my father had such high military rank that I was of the royalty or the governing circle. They have no idea of the way our democracy functions.

One of the men who came to see me, whose picture I recognized later, was Gen. Vo Nguyen Giap, the hero of Dienbienphu. He came to see what I looked like, saying nothing. He is the Minister of Defense, and also on North Vietnam’s ruling Central Committee.

After about two weeks, I was given an operation on my leg which was filmed. They never did anything for my broken left arm. It healed by itself. They said I needed two operations on my leg, but because I had a “bad attitude” they wouldn’t give me another one. What kind of job they did on my leg, I do not know. Now that I’m back, an orthopedic surgeon is going to cut in and see. He has already told me that they made the incision wrong and cut all the ligaments on one side.

I was in the hospital about six weeks, then was taken to a camp in Hanoi that we called “The Plantation.” This was in late December, 1967. I was put in a cell with two other men, George Day and Norris Overly, both Air Force majors. I was on a stretcher, my leg was stiff and I was still in a chest cast that I kept for about two months. I was down to about 100 pounds from my normal weight of 155.

I was told later on by Major Day that they didn’t expect me to live a week. I was unable to sit up. I was sleeping about 18 hours, 20 hours a day. They had to do everything for me. They were allowed to get a bucket of water and wash me off occasionally. They fed me and took fine care of me, and I recovered very rapidly.

We moved to another room just after Christmas. In early February, 1968, Overly was taken out of our room and released, along with David Matheny and John Black. They were the first three POW’s to be released by the North Vietnamese. I understand they had instructions, once home, to say nothing about treatment, so as not to jeopardize those of us still in captivity.

That left Day and me alone together. He was rather banged up himself—a bad right arm, which he still has. He had escaped after he had been captured down South and was shot when they recaptured him. As soon as I was able to walk, which was in March of 1968, Day was moved out.

I remained in solitary confinement from that time on for more than two years. I was not allowed to see or talk to or communicate with any of my fellow prisoners. My room was fairly decent-sized—I’d say it was about 10 by 10. The door was solid. There were no windows. The only ventilation came from two small holes at the top in the ceiling, about 6 inches by 4 inches. The roof was tin and it got hot as hell in there. The room was kind of dim—night and day—but they always kept on a small light bulb, so they could observe me. I was in that place for two years.