The Morning After

My eyes opened this morning, revolting against the small amount of sleep the rest of my body managed to force upon itself. The first thing I saw was my dog, sprawled out near my legs and snoring. It all seemed so normal. 

Then I drifted off to my child, a 9 year-old girl. I thought about when I was 9. I was in a midwest town being raised as a fundamental christian. I was being taught that there was only one truth, that the path to righteousness was narrow, that anyone not on that path were cursed to Hell. I was taught to fear and hate anything that wasn’t in line with a certain interpretation of the Bible. 

“Hate the sin, love the sinner.” Which really means hate the person until they comply.

I was told to break Michael Jackson records, to burn books, to not go into ‘worldy’ places like a movie theater.

I was told homosexuality was a sin, that Muslims(and all other religions) were agents of the Devil.

And I believed it. I believed it all. I went through most of my childhood fearing the world, so sure that it was out to destroy our way of life. 

But as I grew something strange happened. I met people, I experienced the world. I saw different ways of life. I listened to the music I was told to destroy, I read the books I was told to burn, I saw the films that were deemed “worldly”.

There were no enemies out there, there was no Devil. There were just people striving to love, to enjoy the lives they were given. There was no ‘other’. It was then I realized it was less about truth and righteousness and more about indignation towards those who challenged perception. It was comfortable to believe that there is one way, that there is one truth. To allow the possibility that your truth is not a universal truth is too much to process, the resulting cognitive dissonance too overwhelming.

I discovered people who weren’t born with the gift of being a white man living a heteronormative life, being raised as a Christian in the US. I met people who struggled for just a sliver of the equality I took for granted. 

I walked with African American friends and saw people lock their car doors, I walked with LGBQT friends and saw the snarls, I walked with Muslim friends and saw the fear. I saw what I was looking back at me. I saw people who thought there was only one truth, who thought these ‘others’ were trying to destroy their lives.

I think about Trump, I think him talking about making America great again. I think about him attacking and marginalizing every group except one; white men. He is a symptom of the same diseased culture I was raised in as a child. A diseased culture that sees the ‘other’ as a threat. His message has been, “Hate the sin, hate the sinner.”

His supporters have spoken loudly, and it is with fear and hate. It is a fear and a hate I know, I lived through it. I want to talk to those people because I understand them. I was them. I want to introduce them to all the lovely people out there who woke up this morning in fear that Trump will act on all of his words. Lovely people who have just recently gotten the right to marry the person they love, lovely people who are still trying to overcome the stigma of a hijab, the lovely people who couldn’t drink out of certain water fountains 54 years ago. I want them to see there is no Devil out there.

Now as a father, I got out of bed and started getting my child’s breakfast ready. It all seemed so normal.

But it isn’t normal. None of this is. 

The only thing I can think as I look into my child’s eyes is that she is gonna grow into her early teens under a president who dismisses her, who thinks she’s less. 

But her eyes look back to me, and they are full of happiness and hope. She hugs me, I smile. That’s when I know, this is how we fight back, this is how we progress to inclusion. We grasp to hope, we hug, we fight for love. We smile.