My Dad & Politics: How I Learned to be a Compassionate Person

With it being Inauguration Day in the US, it feels like the right time to write this. It's been rolling around in my head since early November but was a little too painful to type up - until now.

Thankfully grief therapy has been helping get comfortable with being uncomfortable, especially when it comes to grieving the loss of my father. I have begun to wrap my head around the fact that this is a long process of healing and it will likely take me years to work through. That's okay, I'm in for the long haul. Because, quite frankly, what choice do I have? 

My therapist has used my favorite quote many times since I started seeing her: THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH. I used this phrase a lot in 2018 when I first started working on removing alcohol from my life (and first realized how much I relied on alcohol for emotional support - it was startling). That period of my life (2018-2021, the "drying out years", as I like to call them) was truly my first introduction to "embracing the suck" and "getting comfortable with being uncomfortable." Who knew giving up alcohol was only the beginning, and that doing this tough emotional work would actually become my lifelong mission?

But I digress.

If I haven't lost you yet, this post is related to Trump taking office today. Here it is: a lot of my grief over what happened in the 2024 presidential election is tangled up in the grief I feel about losing my dad, the two incidents are entwined. And the reason is because everything I know and feel about politics can be traced back to my dad.

My dad was one of the smartest people I knew when it came to politics and I looked up to him from childhood into adulthood. He was a realist, but he was also extremely compassionate. I learned from a young age that he mostly aligned with the democratic party and that he believed in basic human rights. When I was old enough to vote, I looked to him for guidance and learned a lot from him. I'm now probably a little more left-leaning than my dad was, but I credit him for teaching me about being a civic-minded, compassionate constituent.

I am not going to speak for my dad's political views because that would be unfair and honestly I don't know where he stood on every single issue. But things I knew (because he told me) were that he staunchly despised Trump, he thought he had no business leading our country, and he thought he was a legitimate danger to our democracy. My dad was an Airforce Veteran, a man who loved his country, who served for his country, and he told me what he saw happening at the Capitol on January 6, 2021 was the most disgusting and hateful thing he had witnessed since watching the planes hit the twin towers on 9/11. He said it was UNAMERICAN. And that disgusting act of treason was incited by Donald Trump, FULL STOP.

In all his great political wisdom my dad also told me sometime in early 2022 that if Trump ran for re-election in 2024 he would probably win. I didn't want to believe him. I was sort of mad when he said it. I mean, the man incited an insurrection against our government, surely he wouldn't even be allowed to run, never mind would he win! But my dad knew, he knew the force behind the Trump Republican party, he knew how Trump had the Supreme Court stacked in his favor, he knew that the American voters who supported Trump before would come back tenfold (I mean, we saw some of them literally storm the Capitol to "take back the election" in '21 - they were still there, still believing something was "stolen" from them for 4 years under the Biden Administration, that anger doesn't just disappear), he knew that people would believe lies told about immigrants, transgender citizens, inflation/the economy, and abortion because when people are afraid, fed up, or just plain uninformed, they will believe what they think will suit them best to make them feel better. Trump doesn't "tell it like it is", he tells people what they want to hear, and they believe it. 

And damn it, my dad was right.

My dad went into the hospital just before Biden decided to step down from the presidential race. In fact, the last time my dad and I had a conversation (when I visited him at Mass General), a lot of what we discussed was about the presidential election. That's what my dad and I did, we talked about politics: we celebrated the wins, we complained about the losses, and we laughed (or more times than not, lamented) over the batshit crazy stuff coming out of Trump's mouth. That day in the hospital my dad and I discussed how surprised we both were at Trump's bravery after he was shot at and was bleeding from the ear - and we both said that moment of bravery would win him huge points with constituents on both sides. I remember one of the last things I said to my dad was that "there is a very fine line between crazy and brave, and Trump was right on that line the day he was almost shot in the head". My dad laughed and said I was right.

That was the last face to face conversation we had together. Less than a week later my dad had to go on a ventilator, and then I never saw him conscious again.

When Trump won in 2016, my dad was a source of comfort for me. He told me then we'd be okay, we'd get through. And he was the one person I knew I could commiserate with when the scariness of politics became a little too much. 

When Trump won the election this past November, I had never felt more alone in my life. My dad is the one person I wanted to talk to about it, the one person who could have comforted me, or just commiserated with me. He is the one person who I wanted to ask, "what does this mean for us? are we going to be okay?" Because he was smart, he was brave, and he was someone I knew I could trust in this dark and scary world. He was my protector. 

And now today, January 20, 2025, Trump is again being sworn into office, and my dad is gone. So much about that one sentence feels heavy and immensely unfair. All I can do now is take the lessons my dad taught me and try to be like him as best as I can - compassionate, brave, smart, level-headed, and realistic. I'll consider myself lucky if I am even an eighth as good of a person as he was. And most importantly, no matter what happens, I will never stop caring about basic human rights, I will never stop loving our great country, and I will never stop missing my dad. Never.

"I Have A Dream" - by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Delivered on August 28, 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. 

But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself in exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. 

When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men — yes, Black men as well as white men — would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked insufficient funds. 

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. 

We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. 

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. 

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. 

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. 1963 is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. 

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. 

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. 

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. 

And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. 

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, when will you be satisfied? We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. 

We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: for whites only. 

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. 

No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. 

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our Northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends. 

So even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. 

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. 

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. 

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, one day right down in Alabama little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. 

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. 

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. 

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring. 

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that, let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. 

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, Black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last. Free at last. Thank God almighty, we are free at last.