On Jan. 6, 2021, I stopped by my parents’ grave site on the way home from work.
I got out of the car and stood over their grave stones. It was brutally cold. The trees looked stark and violent. I said, “I’d tell you what happened today, but you’d never believe it.” I got in my car and drove away.
My parents were proud Americans, descendants of Swedish and Irish immigrants who knew hardship and hard work, loved their community and gave to others in endless ways. They were “dyed in the wool” union Democrats. They knew, and loved, all of our neighborhood families. Ours was a true working class neighborhood that had boasted WWII Victory Gardens across the street from our house when my father was young.
Never, in their wildest dreams could my parents have imagined some of the events of recent history in America: the violent insurrection in our Capitol; Charlottesville; the election of a president who would disrespect veterans or mock a reporter with a disability from the bully pulpit.
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