Member-only story
My Dad was a Casual Racist and White Supremacist.
He’s now a devoted Trumpette. What can we learn from him?
The deep cold of an east Tennessee winter’s night had settled in. All was still save for the whooshing of the wind in the craggy branches of old trees outside the house. I was six years old, far away in a sound sleep under the warmth of my blankets.
A light clicked on in the hallway outside my bedroom door. What happened next is a streak of sheer terror running through my memory, but in my mind I can still relive it play-by-play as if it were happening right now.
Without any warning, the door violently burst open. Standing in the door frame was my dad, drawn up to every inch of his six-foot-tall, former college football quarterback frame. It was as if he had ceased to be human, completely overtaken by some overpowering, superhuman, demonic rage. My mind raced to piece together what was happening, from unexpectedly awakened to fight-or-flight mode in seconds.
“DANIEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he roared in a voice loud enough to shake the entire house. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!”
