Once every six months I get so stressed by what is happening in the USA, I begin to wish I’d drunk the Kool Aid, so I could believe everything in my country was wonderful.
In this ignorant bliss, I would then truly believe the behavior of a Tangerine Toddler (thanks B.C.) and his not-so-merry gang’s attempt to wreck the principles and values upon which my home country was founded didn’t matter a hoot. I could live my days happy in the hate of those not just like me, believe the wrecking ball was making the world safe for my pseudo-Christian values, though Christ would have thrown him out of the temple long ago.
I could cheer at disappearance of the support my dear granny needs, for loss of income for disabled neighbors, for the food assistance of destitute families. When the company where I’ve worked for years closes because its products are hopelessly out of date, or moves my job out of the country, I could be grateful for the bombastic claim he’s gonna bring ‘em back, while driving to my job at McDonald’s.
But I cannot stay there. Love of country makes me very glad I cannot.