In “enemy” territory

Note: This was written prior to the assassination attempt on former President Trump.

OK, OK, OK, I’m going to write about our Fourth of July in OK, an in-process family reunion and what it’s like being embedded in Trumpland, Texoma, Oklahoma. 

Let’s start with environment: I’ve never been to Texas where my nephew and his family live or Oklahoma where they have an epically fun, gigantic warehouse-sized house by the lake. Everyone, as in everyone here boats, jet- and water-skies, golf-carts, ignites professional-grade fireworks with no fear of injury or starting a fire, enjoys more than a drink or two, blasts country music, sets up gazebos in the water, wears red, white and blue attire—not just on the Fourth of July—and proudly regals their assortment of vessels with Trump flags and merch, one of the weirdest being an inflatable Trump tube with victory fingers, red-faced and orange hair-sprayed. The Texoma kids hurled themselves onto Trump’s plastic likeness and careened down a gnarly water slide that residents carved into a sloping hill.

While their ethnic identity—didn’t see one non-white person—and political allegiance was obvious, I wondered if they suspected that most members of our family were “the enemy”, the ones characterized by Donald Trump as being against border security and encouraging the homeless to propagate city streets? I had a sense they could tell we were “outsiders” by the way we dressed, interacted with each other, and asked a bearded, Trump-T-shirted boater to kindly leave space along the shore for our returning vessel. 

“We’re ain’t moving,” the Trump supporter responded. 

Harsh, but maybe there was a reason.

“We gotta anchor or the boat will float out there,” he said, pointing to the center of the lake.

OK, makes sense. Self preservation.

Later, when he saw my nephew’s boat approaching, Party Dad changed his mind and allowed our boat to dock next to his. Acknowledging his change of heart, I put my hands together and thanked him, to which he returned a smile.

Fact is, no one, not even Party Dad/Anchorman, was outright mean, rude or acted us vs. them-ish. Still, it felt weird being surrounded by a cult of Americans we thought we had nothing in common with. 

Like us “liberals” from the West and East coasts—which I had to explain to my Republican, Trump-supporter nephew and host of our gathering, is not an accurate label—this Celebration of America weekend was an opportunity for everyone to enjoy quality family time.

“I’m incredibly conservative in many areas,” I explained to my nephew. Criminals should be punished. Borders should be secure, and immigrants vetted. Homeless people need to get off the streets and into shelters. Taxes need to be lower and the rich need to pay their fair share. 

And I bet we have other commonalities, I added, like access to healthcare to ensure the well-being of fellow Americans, excellent public education, healthy food choices, well-paying jobs, decent housing, transportation, and freedom of speech. 

Yep, he said, agreed upon values. 

Indeed, I continued, we have genuine differences, but don’t you think our differences, whether it’s gun control and abortion or human rights and climate change, are an opportunity to build conversations rather than walls?

Now there’s an idea. Compromise. Mediation. Diplomacy. Kindness. Mutual respect. Classy vs. crassy, as I tell my grandsons.

TV, social media, heated debates around the pool table—-our kids are watching and listening, learning from adults how to behave, how to respond, how to talk to those we don’t agree with.

Unlike marital conflicts, divorce really isn’t an option. We are Americans, for goodness sake, part of the same family. I can’t help but wonder, Who the hell did this to us? Demonize, create a civil war? And why, in God’s name, did we allow it? We drank the Koolaid, trusted false rhetoric about one group being superior to the other. 

Sound historically, and terrifingly, familiar?

Why can’t we be more like the 7-year-old boy who jumped off his Texans for Trump-flagged boat to join me and my 2-year-old grandson on the shore? 

 “Can I play?” he asked. 

The little boy, who is Caucasian, and my grandson, who is half Chinese, dug holes and played dump truck all the while swapping sweet smiles and staccato snippets of wisdom. 

“Like this,” the boy said, showing Hudson how to add water to the hole. Hudson tried, but his little hands were too small to contain much water. 

“I have an idea,” Hudson said, taking his dump truck to the water, filling it up, then pouring it into the older boy’s well.

You should have seen their dimpled grins, like Thomas Edison discovering electricity. 

“I did it!” Hudson proclaimed. 

“Great job!” agreed his new friend. 

I think that’s where we start. By sharing our core, our values, by being good neighbors, by not ripping down “the other” to uplift our own agenda. Listen. Infiltrate, like us Coasters did at our reunion in Texas/Oklahoma. Discover, as President Barack Obama often said, commonalities rather than differences. 

For a long weekend, our family did just that. Bonded by love, we opened our hearts and discovered that those with whom we politically disagree with are, in fact, an awful lot like us.