We have met the enemy, and he lives here.
How about a little music to set the mood?
As the sixties refused to go away and leave daddy in peace, his racism and intolerance grew focused and festered.
The Chicago riots turned him into a chain-smoking maniac. And I had a front row seat.
Initially, he started about Dan Rather. Take him away, lock him in jail. He has no right to be on TV. People who don’t support our leaders need to be jailed.
And then the riots started. He cheered as the Chicago cops busted heads. Blood flowed, daddy grinned like he was at a football game. Every time he spotted a black face, a spew of N-word invective came out. His plan: beat all hippies and black protesters until the rest ran in terror. No trials, just lock them up for a while and let the hard core criminals assault them physically and sexually. Then let them go back to their parents (all real hippies were freeloading teenagers), and sue the parents and take their money to compensate the city for all the stress the cops suffered. We need to get these people out of the country and, of course, send the N-word’s back to………yea, you get the drift.
He stayed up well after I went to bed, changing channels if an announcer seemed to intimate that the violence was excessive. Can you imagine the old cliche of men chatting in the morning whilst getting coffee? Daddy telling everyone about that wonderful head bashing and all his racist rants?
I listened and realized that the rhetoric about ‘don’t trust anyone over 30’ was true. This was my generation getting their skulls cracked–MY people. Protesting an unjust war could get you killed. And this man under my roof was consumed with seething hate for my generation, no matter what skin color. My country was coming apart and this man/beast was a cheerleader. Racism and violence were his friends. My father was the enemy of all that was good.
And I wasn’t even a teenager yet.
Anyone reading this who is younger than I–don’t let anyone tell you how wonderful the WWII generation (Tom Brokaw’s ‘Greatest Generation’) was–daddy was not alone. There were millions just like him consumed with deep boiling hate of all young people. No tears for bashed heads and countless young people injured or killed–just smiles, cheers, and demands for more blood and more pain. Much later I’ll discuss Kent State and hopefully, you’ll see the vicious snarl of those bloodthirsty racist pigs,
THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING
And, as I normally did during this time, I talked/vented to Steve. He listened, occasionally laughing mirthlessly. When I was done, he said something like:
“Welcome to our so-called revolution. You’ve chosen a side. And don’t worry–you are not alone.”
Then he played this (last verse!):