My America

It’s been a week since that other guy left the White House. It’s been three weeks since he sent his mob of thugs to the Capitol. I hate that other guy. 

This new guy, Joe, well, he’s been a bit of a salve on this nation. He isn’t a miracle worker, but I have noticed that people seem to be a bit… relieved. Not everyone mind you, but all the sane people. 

I know that some would say I should play nice now. That the people who have supported that other guy for four years are also Americans and as such we should all come together and sing kumbaya or some shit. 

Fuck that.

My entire life I have lived in a country that I am acutely aware harbors a large swath of my fellow Americans who see me as less than. That other guy gave that swath of my fellow Americans license to openly espouse their hatred of anyone they would deem other. In return they excused his vile words, his deplorable behavior, his siding with adversaries over our own best minds. They praised his bullying and name calling. They listened and acted accordingly when he told them to march on my nation’s capitol.

A week isn’t enough time to get over all of that. 

But I am heartened that the rest of us decided enough was enough and took our country back. That despite the rigged nature of our elections enough of us took a look around and said, ‘we have to do better,’ then made it a point to vote – a middle finger to the electoral college. I’ve slept better and smiled more than I have in a long time.

This country – this democracy – was never meant to be easy, I get that. It was meant for rich, white, male land owners. 

Over the last two-hundred and forty-five years we have kicked in the doors and demanded a seat at the table. Always with push back. That table’s conversation always ends up sounding a lot like this:

“Have a seat. But you have to sit on that end of the table and you won’t get to eat.”

“Fine, we’ll share this bounty, but you get the leftovers.”

“You can only bring a guest we approve.”

For the last four years we’ve been kicked out of the dining room. Not quite kicked out of the house altogether, but we could hear the table talk and there were definitely plans afoot. 

And now we’re back at the table, eating and willing to share all that is best from the kitchen. 

Just don’t fucking talk to us for awhile.


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