What a Piece of Work is Man

What a Piece of Work is Man

 

What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculties
In form and moving
How express and admirable

I first heard these words, not from the soliloquy from Hamlet, but from the song from the musical “Hair”. My high school choir sang it and I can still remember my tenor part. I thought the song to be one stressing positivity. Extolling human virtues, intelligence, and excellence. I later learned that these words were an inquiry to Hamlet as to why he was depressed? In spite of all man’s potential, and all that has been realized. Today, in arguably the greatest country in the world in many respects. There is great reason to be depressed.

Please bear with me because I will get to something positive but not just yet. I was asked by a friend, a poet, a writer, to respond so something that expressed her feelings. She wanted to understand? And I was no help.

I don’t know what allows a man to kill another man (or woman), seemingly just because they can. I don’t know how our politicians can refuse to enact background checks for all gun purchases in spite of the fact that over 90% of the public wants it. I don’t know how the answer after every mass shooting is to ultimately do nothing. I don’t know how we don’t offer health care to the remaining percentage without it. I don’t know how we refuse to address immigration in a humane manner. I don’t know how we spend our resources mandating morality and sexuality and what bathroom one can enter. I don’t know how we have a system that allows gerrymandering and voter suppression and the equivalent of poll taxes. I’m not saying I don’t know why; I just don’t know how.

And now we have two more dead black men, killed by police. Posing no threat to the officers. Dead just the same. The Governor of Minnesota said what we all know, “Would this have happened if the driver and the passengers had been white? I don’t think so.”

I used to be able to say their names. I used to know the circumstances of their deaths. I used to know the specifics. Now, the number is so many, my memory is insufficient to keep track. I remember the outcomes for the officers. Not charged, not charged, not charged, not charged, not charged, not guilty, not charged. Then a case in South Carolina that was so egregious when a lawman shot an unarmed black man in the back; he was thrown under the bus as if that represented justice for all the rest. Not charged, not charged, not charged, not guilty, not guilty.

My friend said, “I have tried, as long as I know, to understand the mind of God.” Presumably in an attempt to understand God’s will in these situations. For the first time, I knew what I could say. I referred to a sermon I heard many years ago in Jacksonville, FL titled, “Mysterium Tremendum”, Latin for tremendous mystery. The sermon went on to say that God is to man, as man is to the ant. That He is so far beyond our ken, that we cannot comprehend His ways, much like the ant knows not our ways. If we can accept that we will not achieve understanding and instead rely on faith, we may not have satisfaction. But we may have peace.

I am not suggesting at all a passive acceptance of the wrongs in our society. Especially when many of the wrongs target those who have less, to preserve the status and privilege of those who have more. I believe it is also God’s will for us to resist, to challenge, to protest and to vote. Use your strength whatever it is to make positive change happen. If you are not a leader, be a follower, adding strength in numbers but follow wisely.

My peace comes not from man but from God. My strengths as well. To my friend, I suggest she channel her feelings into action. Using her gift of words to shine a light on the issues she chooses. She has motivational power, she can affect change, she can be a beacon in the darkness.

While this was directed to one, I submit that it takes many to affect change. It takes a collective power, focused on the changes that need to be made. Select your causes, bring your passion, make things better. It’s certainly justifiable to be angry, but anger alone accomplishes nothing. This is a time for action.

When Your Son Becomes a Father

 

You were there at his birth. You raised him as a child. And now he has become a man and father. As Father’s Day approaches. The true gift is being able to live vicariously through one’s children. I have two daughters’ and a daughter-in-law as well. They all three are outstanding mothers, putting all that they are into their seven total children, all girls. Perhaps on Mother’s Day I will discuss them, but today I speak on my son… the father.

I watch him now in the same way I observed his soccer games in his youth. While his mother was screaming, “That’s my baby!” I was normally quiet, yet watching his every move. He was an outstanding soccer player, generally the leading scorer on his teams. He had size, strength, and speed. Most importantly he had character.

He generally played over his age group which called for him to demonstrate a little more maturity than he otherwise would have. That didn’t stop him from being just a kid sometimes. In one rainy game there was a huge puddle in one area of the field and during a pause in the action, for no particular reason he jumped and stomped with both feet in the middle of a large puddle spraying water everywhere. I will encourage his children to do the same.

alan soccer

He was always responsible. Headstrong at times, he could not be punished into compliance, it took negotiation. At various times during his childhood, he had to be given privileges back so that something could be taken away. Even in those times he was respectful and soft spoken. I remember thinking, one day you’ll have children and you’ll see! He now has children.

Somehow, seemingly instantly. He gained a maturity I know I didn’t exhibit at that age. He was tall, athletic and handsome (he’s still all three) yet he proved capable of self-control in an environment with options. He handled himself well in relationships and learned from mistakes much more quickly than his father.

I first met his future wife as I was taking my youngest daughter to college in New Orleans, passing through Tallahassee where my son was in college as well. We met at a restaurant and he brought his girlfriend along so that we could meet. He and his sister were as close as any two people in life and they spent that lunch almost exclusively in conversation with each other to the exclusion of the other two present. The siblings love each other dearly still, but now his wife is properly in the lead place.

alan and jessica

I remember the day he came to dinner and asked if he could see me privately. We went into another room and he explained that he was ready to take a wife and wanted my blessing. He talked of how they loved each other even when they had nothing, and he was certain their love would only grow stronger. He was logical, concise and confident. I gladly blessed the union with no regrets then or now.

Then came the time, they announced a child was on the way. It was slipped into the middle of a conversation and they watched as the news sunk in. I was not worried that he was ready for the responsibility because that was perhaps his greatest strength. He was to become a father.

alan and jessica cute

One day in late November, a call came that they were headed to the hospital. It was way too early, the baby was premature. My own experience with premature children was mixed. I was a premature baby though one would never suspect it to see me now. Another child of mine that would have been a girl didn’t live. Attempts were made to delay the birth as long as possible to give the baby a chance but to no avail. Both of these were on my mind as I went to the hospital, determined to be there either way.

Family gathered in the waiting room. My son was in and out but mostly back with his wife as doctors were making decisions as to how to proceed. Their child was further along than the one I lost and there weren’t the deep concerns about life and death but they were concerned about the development of the lungs and wanted to delay the birth also. Ultimately, not long before Thanksgiving, a small healthy baby girl was born. She spent her first days mostly in an incubator. The baby stayed in the hospital for a couple days after her mother was released. The parents resisted the urge to kidnap their child and were finally able to bring her home. My son was now a father.

alan and baby gabby

I watched him as a father, in the same manner, I had watched him play soccer. I didn’t tell him what to do but if asked would offer my opinion. Fatherhood was a more severe test of character than soccer ever was. It, like other things, doesn’t create one’s character, it reveals it. Having a child is a test of patience and priorities. It’s a combination of love, fears, frustrations and incredible rewards. He and his wife have handled them all well. I’m sure not without growing pains but love and faith in God see’s them through. Several months later, in the midst of another unrelated conversation. An announcement about a new impending birth was made. This one went with less drama and now he stands alone in a household full of women.

alans women

My son and his wife have found their own way regarding how they raise their children. They have a partnership with roles. They each sacrifice in different ways. If he were to come to me and ask as he used to after his soccer games, “What do you think?” I would respond as follows:

  1. Embrace every moment: For all the things you’re striving for. The business you’re starting and plans for your family. Don’t let the small moments with your children pass you by. They go so quickly. Fatherhood is more than the responsibility you carry so well. It is also joy. Each hug, each time those girls run to greet you. Remember it all because those times are as important as the milestones.
  2. Maintain your own identity: In addition to the roles you have taken on as father and husband. There must be room to be you. Maintain some separate interests, friendships, and family relationships. A heightened sense of self will allow you to be better at the roles that if allowed would define you.
  3. Make time for your marriage: Work, children, and other responsibilities will consume 100% of your time if allowed. At least one of your babysitters sees those calls to give you some time, not as a burden but as an opportunity, so feel free to call.

I have no further advice. You’re doing just fine on your own. Parent’s want better for children than they had for themselves. They want their children to not only do well but be well. You have become a wonderful man and Father. I’m very proud. Happy Father’s Day!

 

Dad

 

I Can’t Watch the News Today

 

 

I’m normally a news junkie. National news, political news, local news. If I watched the news today I could get it all in one after the Orlando shooting.

orlando shooting four

 

I used to live a block from the club where the shooting took place. It was an eclectic neighborhood. A combination of older homes built in the mid 1900’s and newer homes and condos with a Mediterranean flair. Less than 2 miles from downtown, there was an air of gentrification along with elderly homeowners that had watched the neighborhood change with the times.

orlando shooting neighborhood too

Thru an otherwise quiet neighborhood runs Orange Avenue. Lots of shops, a major hospital a few blocks away, a gym and immediately across from the club there’s a Wendy’s and on another corner a Dunkin’ Donuts. I confess I used to walk to both far too frequently.

Dunkin Donuts

The nightclub “Pulse” was a neighbor too. I admit the music was loud, carrying thru the neighborhood on weekend nights. Dance music, house music, and sometimes salsa. I imagine the noise may have bothered some, to me it was just part of the weekend on my block.

 

There wasn’t enough parking in the Pulse lot. Club goers would park on the neighboring side streets including mine and it wasn’t unusual to bump into patrons on their way into the club. I didn’t see many on their way out as the club let out late. They were generally very polite, they asked if we minded if they parked in front of our house, and incidentally they were gay.

Orlando shooting neighborhood

I won’t watch the news today because I don’t want to view the endless speculation that accompanies these things. They’ll guess as to motive, some stations will steer the conversation to radicalism instead of homophobia. They’ll bring on experts, comments from politicians, tweets from Trump. Someone will blame Obama.

The NRA will close ranks and insist that guns for everyone, everywhere is the answer. If only there were more “good guys with guns”. Others will call for “common sense” gun reform and background checks but they’ll ultimately be ignored. They will speak to survivors of previous shootings. They’ll speak to witnesses and relatives. There will be tears. The cycle is predictable and goes on and on.

orlando shooting witnesses

I was in Atlanta when the bombing took place during the Olympics. I’d been near the location a couple hours before the blast. I was in New York when the twin towers came down. When I saw the hole a year later I was numb. I’m not afraid for myself, I know there are yet things for me to do so I worry not. I do fear for my children and grandchildren. What kind of country do we live in? What kind of world? I learned Facebook has an app to let people know you are safe when there’s a shooting near you. What kind of world?

When I was young. I could ride my bike or take the bus all over town. During the summer I would leave my home precisely at 9 in the morning, to return only for food or before the street lamps came on. I felt safe. It was safe. My children’s children will not know that kind of freedom, nor safety.

I won’t watch the news today, maybe not tomorrow. I know what they’re saying. They’ve said it all before.

The Day I Fought Muhammad Ali

 

 

Just a bit of poetic license because I never actually fought Ali although he did throw a punch at me. That may be a stretch too as he never intended to hit me because he surely could have done so had he meant to. Muhammad Ali came to visit Fisk University in 1975 and I was among many enthralled by his presence. He was admired not for being a champion. But for championing peace and non-violence. For taking a stand and not giving in to the pressure to bow down even though it temporarily cost him his belt and millions in earnings for doing so. He risked going to jail for his beliefs and it was the man and not the boxer that was cheered that day.

Ali in Jubilee Hall

He gathered around him in a circle, those of us who at least looked the most formidable. Football players, basketball players and other athletes. I told myself I was taller than he, my reach as long. But before any delusions of glory could manifest themselves, he threw a playful jab in my direction as he’d done others in the circle to demonstrate his quickness. It only registered that he’d thrown the punch after his fist was on its way back. I felt the wind against my jaw before my sight registered the arm behind the fist I never did see. My thoughts of boxing were permanently erased as I realized that there was a level to which I could only aspire.

Ali kiss at fisk

Ali eventually disappeared back into the limousine in which he appeared. Many got to chat with him and while I did not I have a memory that will last always. Muhammad Ali… the greatest. RIP!

When It’s Time To Go

I wrote this to a friend for whom I felt could use these words. While specific to one they may have value for many therefore I share. While it was about career choices there may be considerations for relationships as well.

 

When It’s Time To Go

 

You’ve known for a while it was over

You were no longer allowed to function on your terms

You were more than they could comprehend

Smarter… taller… blacker

 

They were confounded by having to address what they would rather not

They wanted to talk about change

Without actually changing

They needed labels so they could elevate themselves

There were bad kids but never bad teachers… schools… districts

 

The hard part is learning not to define yourself using their standards

The hard part is leaving a situation where despite the obstacles

Despite the systemic bias against black, brown and yellow

Despite those who asked your opinion without really wanting it, just to be able to say they did

The hard part was knowing that you were doing good by getting down on your knees, on the floor, with those who were smaller so you could look them in the eye.

The hard part is leaving behind the next child that you could have helped

Time for you to go

 

Not just go to the next plantation where they will use you till you drop

Time to be your own master

Time to control your fate

Time to step onto a bigger stage

 

Sisyphus was punished for self-aggrandizing and deceit

You have only told truth

Let the rock roll down the hill and push it up no longer

Multiply yourself a thousand fold and help more children than you ever dreamed

Become a speaker, write those books, tell more truths

 

Time to assess your assets, your platform, your pedigree, your dreams

What is the message you would deliver

To whom would you tell it

Is there anyone already doing what you would like and how did they get there

 

The hardest part about making change is letting go

The best part is rediscovering the joy in what you do

Not only will there be no regrets

You’ll wish you had done it sooner

So strategize and energize

Think and then do

Time for you to go

black woman walking

I Found Out I Had a Daddy Today: Part One

 

This is not my story. I knew my father, sort of. He took me and one of my brother’s fishing once. I remember it as being fun. A second time he came knocking on the door drunk wanting to see his family he’d long ago left. I don’t recall him ever living in our home, only the aforementioned events. I got a call while I was in college letting me know he had passed away. I thought I was supposed to feel something. Nothing came. But I digress because this is not my story.

I met a woman today, rather she met me as I did nothing to initiate the conversation. She was not black, not white, I’m more sure of the things she wasn’t than what she was but it’s not relevant to the story. I will add that I am apparently one of the few tall, big, black men in America that is not “scary” because nobody ever reacts to me that way. When I got to college at Fisk, I was 17 and do admit I looked young. My basketball teammates called me “Baby Huey”. Maybe it’s my calm demeanor which has earned me another nickname, “Still Bill”. But again I’m meandering because this isn’t my story.

The woman’s first words were, “I found out today I have a daddy”. She went on to say, “my mother had told me he was dead but I talked to him and am on my way to meet him right now”. There was a time I might not have been curious and wished she would go away but since I’m a writer now I have to become a better observer, examining human behavior and describing the fragility of our existence. Instead of ignoring her I asked, “how did you find him”? She said her grandmother mentioned him by name and referred to him as being alive. She later found him on Facebook and tried to friend him but he blocked her. She then went to Instagram and sent him a message explaining who she was. They talked by phone, he asked who her mother was and when she named her, he broke down crying saying, “You’re my only daughter! I was looking for you for years but your mother changed your name when you were very young.” They made arrangements to meet and that meeting was now about 15 minutes away in a public place.

I asked how she felt about meeting him? She said she was apprehensive. She said without judging, “he’s a man whore, his Facebook page is full of naked women. But I’m gay so he has to deal with that.” She was full of nervous energy and I felt like I should be offering some advice but I had none to give. I asked how old she was and she replied, “twenty”. Younger than my youngest daughter. She asked why I inquired and I told her I write about things I experience sometimes and she agreed to let me know how the story turns out. I did say that “it doesn’t all need to happen in a day”. She agreed and moved along to go meet her daddy. To be continued…

Even a Strong Black Woman Gets Tired Sometimes

If we are lucky we currently know or have known strong Black women who can always be counted on when things get tough. What we fail to realize is that always is an awfully long time and that depending on that strong Black woman can be draining because it so often results in them putting others before herself. It would be nice to think she “don’t get no ways tired” but even the best of them have their days.

tired black woman good

Strong Black women are under assault, they are exempt from none of the forces systematically aligned against Black people and they have also assumed the responsibility of standing up for their children, their mates, their brothers and sisters whether family or not and have even extended themselves to other causes where the absence of justice and equality and rights threatens not just some but all.

tired black woman

It is easy sometimes to sit back and rely on the strong Black woman to fight the good fight, reaping the windfall of their efforts while doing little of the work. We roar at the slaughter of Black men but with Black women somehow not so much. We participate in judging and body shaming and trying to control what we ought not. Our own images sometimes depend on the woman being somewhere beneath us rather than at our side. It is no wonder that she gets tired sometimes.

strong black woman one

To the strong Black woman I would ask her to remember the good she has done and the lives that have benefitted from her presence. I would also ask her to deploy her own airbag first before attempting to help others because if you lose consciousness you’re of no more help. Feed yourself also if not first and look within and to your faith for strength because people are somewhat unreliable. Know your worth and use some of that strength to insist others respect it as well. Know when to cut your losses because all situations and relationships and causes may not be intended for more than a season.

sad woman

 

To those who know a strong Black woman, support her, assist her, make her welfare a concern because she may be so busy being strong she doesn’t take the care of herself that she should. Most of all appreciate her. It will go a long way toward giving her the strength to keep doing what we all need her to do. Love her unselfishly recognizing that she is not only supporting you but a whole universe of people who have needs as well. If she has chosen you your time together will be cherished because she’s that kind of woman. And when she needs it, let her rest because even she gets tired sometimes.

black woman resting

 

Reflections of a New Blogger (Part Two)

 

 

Coming up on two months now and I have new observations:

 

  1. Still haven’t figured out a way to stop obsessing about the stats. I can instantly see how many people are viewing each post, whether they are exploring and reading other posts while visiting my blog, which ones connect and those that don’t. I suppose it could lead to my tailoring my posts to give the public what they want to read but instead it clarifies what I always suspected in that I pretty much write about what I feel like writing about which leads to the second point.

“Life, my ass, motherfucker! This is a business, and you ain’t too far gone to see that yet! I told you before, you’re not packin’ them in like you used to. No one digs your music but yourself.” Billy Sparks – Purple Rain

Billy Sparks

  1. I’m writing a particular thing that to this point almost nobody digs but me. It’s an online book, “The History of American (White) Exceptionalism” and I’m posting approximately one chapter a week, according to the stats, almost nobody is reading it. It’s long, it requires a lot of research, so far its about history which some people find boring. I’ve seen data about blog length and at what point readers lose interest, but I write on. I’ve learned so much about American history and the continuing narrative about how it was built literally on the backs of slave labor and indentured servants. While slavery officially ended after the Civil War, there has been something in its place ever since then to guarantee a perpetual lower class of minorities and poor whites to provide an economic advantage for the country and to enrich the already wealthy. Whether it was the Black Codes, Jim Crow or the current system of redistricting, gerrymandering and voter suppression. The system is rigged and people need to know. I will continue to write this until it’s conclusion in about 14 more chapters because I am learning so much. I’ve found that for every Civil Rights Act (of which there were many) or “Brown vs. The Board of Education” or Voting Rights Act, there has been a Supreme Court or Congress that whittled away all these rights until their impact was minimal. When I’m finished I’ll edit it and put it out in book form, even if self-published because I’m stubborn like that.
  2. People that think they’re smart, myself included, tend to think people will be swayed by their brilliance when what they’re looking for is a personal connection. I typically write about stuff and don’t always write about me hence the “Enigma” in the blog name. I’m working on that I promise. The things that have resonated the most were ones that were less facts and more feelings. I hear you.
  3. Send in the clowns. In some of my blog posts, I’m saying some fairly provocative things yet no one has disagreed… not once. On my Facebook page, I have trolls I can count on to liven up the discussion but they haven’t found their way to my blog. I encourage opposing views; it may sharpen my argument or I might even change my view. Test me in this!

That’s all for now. I’m thankful for those who’ve given tremendous amounts of support and encouragement.

The Doctor Is In

 

 

In England at Buckingham Palace, a special flag called the Royal Standard is flown when the Queen is in residence. I suppose this would notify anyone entering to take extra special consideration due to the possibility of encountering the Queen. In the United States, any Air Force aircraft carrying the President is called Air Force One and any Marine helicopter is called Marine One which announces the significance of the traveler on board. At Fisk University, a far less formal tradition would let you know of the presence of Dr. L.M. Collins in the library.

Fisk Library

When entering the library, with little fanfare Doc would simply place his hat on the counter as he headed left to the elevator that took him to his second story office. My personal experience is that I can’t recall ever entering the library without noting whether or not the Doctor was in. One could be invited to his office by appointment, sometimes summoned or one could just drop by, taking the chance that the line of students wouldn’t be too long. Upon entering the office one is struck by the limited space, overwhelmed by books everywhere seemingly growing out of the walls and piled on many surfaces. Many a student left with a book they didn’t have on the way in as there was little in his collection if anything that he wouldn’t freely share.

doctor collins graduation

I often wondered about his hat, if there were a single hat of which he took the same meticulous care as he did the El Dorado that sat in the driveway of the cottage where he resided during most of his Fisk years. He sent me on an errand once, asking me to take the El Dorado which made me both appreciative that he’d thought me responsible but also fearful that any harm might come to his car while in my possession. This would have been about 1977; the car was already 7 years old and had only 5,000 miles on the odometer. Doc Collins walked most everywhere he went.

friendmobile

 

 

Pictorial evidence showed he actually had a number of hats over the years. Some came with a band, some tweed and others plain. There are words you could never associate with a Dr. Collins hat; dirty, crumpled, faded or pretty much anything with a negative connotation. And when he placed his hat down when he entered the library, there was no question it would still be there when Dr. Collins came to retrieve it for who would dare take that hat?

My memories of Dr. Collins are forever with me and in his passing, I’m not so much experiencing a loss for myself but sadness for future Fiskites who won’t be blessed with his presence. They won’t know to glance left when entering the library and feel just a little bit better in knowing that the Doctor is in!

Friend

In Loving Memory of Dr. Leslie M. Collins –  February 23, 2014

 

My Friend Donald (Part 2)

 

 

Four years ago I wrote about My Friend Donald (Part 1) after he was publicly embarrassed at the 2011 White House Correspondents Dinner. It was there that he was mocked by President Obama and he had no choice to do anything other than sit and take it. In all the years of our friendship, Donald was never good at hiding his emotions and on this occasion, the whole gamut was on display. He showed fury, scorn, disgust, hatred… and then he smiled.

Obama Trump

What I feared for then. Was that my friend would fade into obscurity, unable to face the public in the boastful way which had once been his trademark. He had been publicly abused by a man he frankly didn’t like very much. Worse yet it had been recorded for posterity’s sake and would be seen over and again by millions, with Donald Trump as the butt of the joke. I thought of reaching out to Donald then. But our relationship was not such that I felt I could be helpful, I could only remind him of his pain.

Looking back, I see I underestimated the force of will of Donald Trump. He turned deep humiliation into motivation and it was then at that dinner, at the moment he smiled. That he decided he would become the President of the United States and undo all that President Obama had accomplished in eight years. He thought about running in 2012 but recognized that after the President was successful in killing Bin Laden there was little chance of usurping the hated Obama that year, but Donald was a planner. He would start sowing the seeds for his 2016 campaign. He was as motivated as he could possibly be, I’m saddened to say he was fueled by hate.

Donald Trump Decision

You have to know Donald like I knew him to understand where he is coming from. He has kept a mental list of all those that have ever stood in his way and he would use his Presidency to get revenge. He hated the Federal Government that had once sued him for refusing to rent to “the Blacks” in one of his housing projects. Despite his present claims that he “never settles”, he did this time for millions of dollars and it still eats at him.

His hatred of the media stems from an event that took place before his birth. The New York Times ran an article mentioning his father Fred, had been arrested along with 6 others in a violent clash between police and the KKK. They even printed his home address in the paper and pointed to the fact that all 7 men were represented by the same lawyer as if that was supposed to mean anything. His present response to that event is that “it never happened” which if he repeats enough will make it go away in his mind.

Donald never really got along with minorities. He considered himself a good athlete yet the few Hispanics he knew always wanted to play soccer and he never got the hang of the game. Not only was he not good but he felt they verbally abused him in Spanish which made the insults all the worse because he didn’t know exactly what they were saying. His list was growing and he knew one day he would implement “the big payback” although at the time he didn’t know what form it would take.

By the time he got to military school. Donald did pretty well with the girls in the rich kid with a nice car kind of way. He began to suspect that none of them liked him for him and only for his money which came from his father and hadn’t been earned himself. It got back to him some of the things that were said behind his back so his “revenge” against women would be sleeping with as many of them as he could. To his credit, he never claimed to have slept with anyone he didn’t. He did never fail to name all the women that he felt wanted him and claim he could have had them which could never be disproven. Donald eventually developed a “type”. Tall, blonde, Slavic and who viewed him as means to and end whether in terms of enhancing their modeling careers or becoming a trophy wife. They also have in common an unwillingness to talk about him (much) when the relationship is over lest the money stop flowing.

For the moment, Donald seems back on top of the world. He’s the presumptive nominee of the Republican Party he and his children only recently joined so that he could become President. The Democrats his views were more in line with would never have had him. With the Republicans, there were enough people like him, that thought the same way, that he could get far. His campaign slogan says it all, “Make America Great Again”. I’d love for someone to ask him exactly when “again” was so we could clarify what he means. The beauty is that people can fill in the blanks with the one constant being when America was whiter.

Nevada-KKK-anti-Trump-protest-1

 

I won’t talk about his politics. I worry about how things end this time for my friend. For all that Donald Trump does not know which is a long list. He knows what being a loser is. He can try to salvage some pride by claiming he received more Republican primary votes than any other man in history. He can claim to have led a movement which is true but I might phrase it differently. My friend Donald made it acceptable to be overtly racist. He made it okay to be homophobic and xenophobic and to advocate a me first attitude that he has personally always lived by. Should he lose, an ordinary politician would attempt to rewrite history and attempt to salvage his pride. But Donald knows losers, and would never believe the hype, even if he were the one spewing it.

There is the other more remote possibility that he could actually win. Donald wouldn’t fare well as President because Congress wouldn’t simply do as he says and that would be a problem. He won’t be able to mock them into compliance because Congress is almost immune after being mocked by the whole nation during the past several years. He would find being President lonely and sad. He would become known as the least effective President ever, and he would respond on Twitter.

It shall not end well for Donald either way. I want to let him know that I am now, and shall forever more be… his friend