I Lied To My Family About My Vote For President In 2016. What Will Happen When I Tell The Truth?
I received the text on Election Day 2016.
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I received the text on Election Day 2016.
“I don’t want to be a gork,” I say from my hospital bed, clutching the arm of Josh, my youngest. At 42, his curls are going gray.
I had twins at the age of 53.
Parents and children are likely to bump heads from time to time, whether the relationship is strong or strained. But the arguments between parents and their young kids are typically different from the ones between parents and adult children.
The Trump presidency divided my family. The “Trump Effect,” as I called it, infected us shortly after he descended into the lobby of Trump Tower to announce his presidential candidacy. It ended seven years later, around my kitchen table, with three generations of my mother’s progeny mowing their way through Italian takeout. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Warning: This post contains mentions of abuse.
This man is a survivor, I kept telling myself, despite all evidence to the contrary. His face was gaunt, cheeks pale, hair threadbare from the most recent rounds of chemo. They had removed the lower left half of his jaw, searching for remnants of the disease, and his mouth hung slack and uneven. Even so, he kept trying to smile, to lighten the mood. His brown eyes danced when no other part of him could.
Kathy L. is a 46-year-old mother of three in North Carolina. Five years ago, she moved her family back to her hometown in order to help care for her aging parents, but for the past year and a half, the family has devoted significant time and resources to caring for her husband’s aunt, who has dementia. Her children were ages 15, 11 and 9 when the aunt came to live with them last summer.