We are truly in unprecedented times for our country. And, based on the history of other countries that have fallen into authoritarianism, we'll be lucky if we come out of this with any sense of democracy intact - at least at a federal level. I'm not saying destruction is imminent. But, historically, where we're at now is not a good sign.

And, here's the thing, it may take time before everyone feels the squeeze of authoritarianism, particularly if you're an able-bodied white American (like myself) who will be sheltered for some time by our privilege. So, it's important to listen to marginalized groups who are already being affected by Trump and Company's bulldozing of our democracy. These people have been the initial targets of racist, authoritarian power structures since time immemorial. This isn't new to them. They've had to fight tooth and nail to gain and keep their basic civil rights in this country. Support them now in whatever way you can. Be an ally.

And remember, quite literally, if you're not a rich white man, your ancestors had to fight hard for your rights too (for example, poor white men were not fully permitted to vote until 1828 - 40 years after the ratification of the Constitution) - which is one of the reasons why Trump and Co. don't want inclusive history to be taught.

As this progresses, there's going to be a tendency for people to get apathetic, to get compliant - again, especially if you're a white person and the pain being inflicted isn't directly affecting you - sure, we'll all feel the price increases, but that can be begrudgingly shrugged off as we go about our day.

But, authoritarianism feeds on apathy. It fears resistance. So, we have to resist. In small ways. In big ways. We cannot be passive. Call your elected officials, flood their phone lines. Donate to organizations that are fighting this unabashed loathing of the Constitution. Support immigrants, who've long been the backbone of our country, in any way you can. And be ready. Start telling yourself now to stand up, to protest, to boycott, to shout and make your voice heard so that you're ready when the moment presents itself.

And I get it. This can all feel so overwhelming and we've all got responsibilities and bills and people to take care of and we live in a society where the most pressing weight is put on the working class. And sometimes we're doing all that we can just to get by day to day. So, do what you can. Take care of yourself and your loved ones. And just be ready. Because, at some point, we will all be brought face to face with some facet of this authoritarianism and how you respond (and it may be as simple as ignoring it) will determine which side you are on. As the late great Howard Zinn said, "You can't be neutral on a moving train.”

We are very likely going to have to say, "not in my country," "not in my state," "not in my county," "not in my city," "not in my home."
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And I think it's important to close by saying that I do not think this is a hopeless way of thinking. I truly hope this constitutional crisis is curbed with minimal damage to our government. But, I think sometimes we mistake hope as a passive thing - just stay home and hope something gets better. But, hope needs help. Hope is only the beginning, an emergency tow to pull us out of the sinking darkness. At some point, we’ve got to open our eyes, see where we are, grab a tool, and help hope help us.

Happy 70th, Dad.
Time moves so fast and so slow at the same time. It feels like yesterday and forever ago that you were here. And I know you're always here with me in some way, but I also know you know what I mean.

It's the 14th birthday we've celebrated without you. Some of those birthdays were painful, some were sweet, and some were serene.

Not too long ago, 70 seemed “old.” And, at that age, I thought 41 sounded old, too - yet, here I am at 41 and I don't really feel that old (although it's duly noted that I no longer have the energy of a 20-something).
70 doesn’t really seem that old from my current position either.

Numbers are a funny thing.

I remember that first time I saw your birth and death dates on your tombstone. It was hard to see. It felt inadequate. It felt cold. And it felt so final. It was a lot of things, yet it wasn't an accurate representation of your presence - the life you led and the lives of those like me who carry you in their heart still. I really avoided seeing those numbers for a long time. It hurt too much.

I think those numbers are our human way of trying to make sense of all this. Something starts and then something ends. It's easier that way. It's contained. But, connection and memories and feelings don't really function so cleanly.
I was 26 when we last spoke. I remember feeling like an adult at the time and I look back now and realize how young 26 was and is. You were 55. I am now closer to 55 than 26. There's so much I wish I could ask you, things that that 26-year-old who thought he was so old didn't understand that he wanted to know.

I remember back in 1991 when you put your hand on my shoulder at Grandpa Tvergyak’s burial. You were 40 and still finding your footing after your heart attack. It was a destabilizing and uncertain time. But, even in that uncertainty, your hand on my shoulder grounded me and comforted the shell-shocked 11-year-old that I was. I can feel it now. It was the same steady hand that has always held me as far back as my memory goes, that would pull me in for a hug right up to the last moment I saw you. And, on days when I need it, I know it's there still, lovingly supporting and guiding me to my own answers.

It's not the same, it won't ever be the same, but it's like we're growing together. I am always a part of you and you are always a part of me.

Happy birthday, Dad. Love and miss you dearly.

P.S. I'm still sipping coffee from your Browns mug every morning - almost religiously. This year, I'm really hoping they get you that Super Bowl victory. Can't think of a better birthday gift for you!