My Republican Dad

In a world where we are so perfectly siloed into our respective echo chambers - can we choose to be pals anyway?

Now I won’t pretend that I don’t know how we got here. We had every ingredient for divisiveness sorted out with mise en place precision when we had to choose between Trump and Hilary. Then we added the special sauce in the form of a global pandemic. Covid hit and we all finally a had a chance to sit still with ourselves and it made us VERY uncomfy. I would argue that we all already knew how fucked everything was - but this moment of marinating in our pain gave us the capacity to get pissed and the perfect opportunity to take it out on one another.

I for one turned covid into my phoenix story arche. I decided to burn it all down and rise from the ashes by dipping out of a brand new lease in LA, breaking up with my partner, changing my career and moving in with - you guessed it - my Republican dad. I spent the next three years coming and going from my mother and step father’s home as I experimented with being a nomad. I oscillated between living in the woods with no electricity and hanging out in NYC or LA (I told you I was a constant contradiction).

During these three years of coming and going, there were many mornings where I - jobless and happy - would sit at the kitchen table with my dad and chat about politics and culture. We argued about BLM protests, gender equity, trans bathrooms and abortions. We were, and still are, unanimously at odds about all of the above. I had moments where I stormed off after a disagreement because I was appalled that the man who had given me my moral compass could be so morally corrupt. What happened to the fairness and kindness that I had always associated with him? How could we read the same article, watch the same video, and still come to such differing conclusions?

I am proud to say that after raising my voice and leaving the table during those tough conversations - I was the one who apologized. While I am still offended and enraged by many of my dads opinions, he always listened to my perspective. He heard me out fully, he never raised his voice and he never belittled me. He’s never the one who left the table. While many may conflate an apology with a concession, I’m proud that I said I was sorry and went back to the table to hear him out fully.

I never did find much common ground with his perspectives. But I did begin to understand how he found himself with these opinions. To understand my Republican dad you first have to understand how he was raised. He grew up in a rural part of Upstate New York working in the family business with his father and brother - a USDA federal slaughterhouse. Yes dear reader, I am the proud never-to-be heiress of the family murder pit! More on that at a later date. My grandfather was a wealthy land owner when my dad was very young but there was a wild land deal that went south and some bad blood (small town shit) that caused them to lose their home and much of their fortune. My grandfather had to start over and while he did recover financially, they never had the wealth they once held. My father was forced to give up his youth to help with the family business. He never went to college and couldn’t fulfill his dream of joining the military because he was always needed at the slaughterhouse, and my dad is nothing if not loyal.

These are my Republican Dad’s. I love them and I often even like them. They make me furious with their privileged, willful ignorance. And yet - sometimes - I can see where they’re coming from.