As Rolling Stone so eloquently put it, “If the Koch brothers didn’t exist, the left would have to invent them.”
My generation only inhabits this world. We have not built it and we are too Balkanized to deconstruct it.
To say that my father died would often send an adult in search of the chink in my armor, the loose thread, the thing that would unravel me in a puddle of mourning. But there is no chink, no thread, no visible scar. My grief is ordinary and well worn.