A memory of Dad, at just the right time

I just want to read the news in the morning again without feeling like my entire psychological constitution is at risk. My dad, who wondered how Trump could stand himself, would have responded to that observation with a slow, sad shake of his head. 

I’ll come back to my dad in a minute.

                                                    

First of all, this won’t be a full-on Trump post, because discussions about Trump are no longer interesting. My appalled reactions to his speech, behaviors and attitudes are like everyone else’s. We’ve all seen how Trump leverages and gives voice to the darkest human feelings people can possess. He’s been lampooned, mocked, called out, and decent people now know the worst they once only feared.

And yes, it’s possible we’ll have him for four more years which is like being in an abusive relationship and being told “I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to live with it for four or five more years and then you’ll be free.”  

There is Just. So. Much. Hate. 

People will say that the hate was here before Trump came and that’s true. We’ve always had hate, like we’ve always had dogs who need to be kept fenced because if they’re loose, they will damage someone badly whom they perceive as a threat.

Self-control and perspective and general evolution and progressive societal leanings and new generational influences have helped us keep hate in check, or learn from it, or at least know we should try for the greater good.

But a while back, Trump opened the gate to let those dangerous dogs run and now, if we try to put them back in the pen, Trump will just come back and remove the gate altogether. 

Watching, or even reading about people who hate is like living in a climate you don’t like but must find a way to deal with every day. It’s like Florida in August. You have to be near the air conditioning if you’re going to remain civil.

So, what happens I wonder, to people when they are allowed, permitted, or even encouraged to hate for so long? What happens to a person who is exposed to hate for that long? What are we going to do with all this leftover hate in four or five more years?

I’ve been lulled into seeing the sides of humanity that I don’t like, and I fear I’ll become the frog in the water who doesn’t realize it’s dying from exposure to the slowly rising temperature.

It’s during times like these that I feel my dad’s absence most acutely. For years, we traded observations over lunch of the general human condition, the comedy and drama of it. Always, there was a spin, a take, a view that would lead to one of the many laughs we shared.

And so this morning, I talked to my father as I often do when I miss him. I told him that I had been feeling a little aimless on the writing side because my spirit has been suffering from all that climate hate. I said I wasn’t really sure where I belonged on the page but that I was feeling more drawn to the negative than the positive and didn’t like the things I was believing about complete strangers.

And Dad said:

If a course of action makes you feel like a person you don't like as much, change it. It's the wrong one.  

This, of course, is also known as listening to the gut, something my dad did reflexively, and encouraged me to do from the beginning as well.  

Starting today, I’m going to make an active effort to find examples of anti-hate, or even better, love and kindness. It’s what makes me the person I like most to write the stories of everyones and their everydays.

Next week: the man in the truck with the Trump sticker, and me, at the light.

I might not be able to leave my abuser for four or five more years, but somewhere in this heat, there is air-conditioning and that’s where I will be while it’s August in Florida.