It will take more than a village
Quite a while back I wrote something about being a child watching the Memorial Day Parade in my small paper mill town. About how women wore white gloves, and men (who had them) wore hats, and pride we felt when the flags were carried out of our elementary school. Such a solemn day, folks quiet and respectful. Even tiny children stood at attention. Everyone seemed to know the day was about something bigger than all of us put together.
When Donald Trump grabbed onto our flag and “hugged” it a few weeks ago, I had the same reaction as when I saw photos of him being inappropriate with Ivanka. Same feeling.... hands where they shouldn’t be, his smile on the downward side of sly. I was sickened.
I’m in my mid-seventies, plenty old enough to remember when we stood for something. Plenty old enough to know the difference between compromising and selling out. Plenty old enough to tell the difference between consultant-produced talking points and a real set of principles.
I don’t laugh at the “clean-up in aisle six” Trump jokes or the photos of our nude First Lady aiming a pistol. I no longer joke about Trump’s hair because I can’t look at his hair without seeing his eyes, which are dead, cold, and chilling.
Trump spits on things we used to hold dear. He wipes his feet on the Constitution, smashes norms and destroys traditions. He has exchanged soaring presidential oratory for pitiful, shallow tweets. He lies about Mexico, the F.B.I., crowd sizes. Anything and everything, all day, every day.
Trump doesn’t believe in Climate Change, fair play, or voting rights. He loves dictators and hates democracy. He’s an utter embarrassment on the world stage, national stage, in the Oval Office or in the Rose Garden. He’s a vulgar thug, a bullying misogynist. He has pretty much leveled agencies we count on, destroyed standards we lived by. He has changed so many things in so many ways.
I had an evil uncle who did awful things to his children and wicked things to many others. The men in my family liked to drink with him because he had no rules. The women in the family were dutifully silent around him because they didn’t dare do otherwise. The children were like animals in a snare that didn’t dare cry out. Everything in that house was upside down. Wrong was right. Bad was good. Power was worshipped. Adults said to keep quiet about things, and nearly everyone did.
I mentioned this uncle for one reason only. I deeply understand why some DUers have beg for something to be done about Donald Trump. It’s not about the next election, or politics, or chess games, or Nancy Pelosi. It’s about us....who we are....where we’ll draw the line....what we WILL NOT tolerate.
I couldn’t care less about what some bigot said on Fox News, but I care deeply about those children in cages and how long they have been there.
I’m thinking about that frog in the water pot. The heat is on but it will be way too late when he realizes it.
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