Questions of Shifts, Drifts, Grifts, and Gifts

On The Fence Voters

To most of my relatives and friends—more appropriately, former friends—I’m an outcast, a traitor to the true faith. Were we to have an extensive family gathering, I’m sure I’d be allowed in, but then I’d be shunned—until, finally, someone would broach the topic: “Why are you such a Trump hater? Why have you become,” face suddenly contorted in a disdainful sneer, “a lib?”

In such a scenario, were I to respond, my words would drift off into the atmosphere having found no place to alight, all attainable auditory landing sites obstinately barred.

My Heretofore Unimaginable Shift

Four and a half years ago I could not have imagined being unbendingly at odds with folks I’d grown up with, folks I’d shared meals with, folks I’d have trusted with my life. Nor would I have imagined writing blog posts for a site run by a man with the username Brookingslib…

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