The Unraveling

 

Have you ever thought, "What if the orange man had been raised by someone else? Would he still be the narcissistic asshat, void of any real emotion other than anger?"

Nature versus nurture. That was a big thing in sociology class 101. It's still a question from which there seems to be no consensus- no definable answer agreed upon.

What if little Donny had grown up with a Dad who took him fishing, who played catch out in the back yard, who read him a book before bedtime? What if Mom hugged him and they baked Christmas cookies and played Monopoly? 

Would Donny still be Donald?

The orange man's niece, Mary, has spoken about Trump when he was younger. He hated being teased. He had no sense of humor, never laughed unless a cruel act hit its mark on someone else. He was a lazy and petulant little boy. 

Again, I must confess, I watch YouTube for late night entertainment. Sometimes I will watch a video where a drunken young fool gets pulled over and acts like the drunken fool they are at that moment. Then I read the comments where time after time people blame their parents for the wreck before us. Those comments truly piss me off. I have four sisters. We all have the same parents, grew up in the same house, witnessed the same things, yet, we are all very different. Our oldest sister is the good one. I was not the good one. One sister is a liar and a thief, one has as little to do with family as possible, the other, another angel who is kind and generous and always looks for the positive. We all had the same alcoholic mother and the same disengaged father and we all have different versions of our childhood. Nature versus nurture.

As for little Donny- I  believe some people are born bad. I imagine him crying if he has to touch that gross fish, or whines when he has to search for the missed baseball. He would toss the game board across the room if he lost and bully his siblings. His parents would sit up late at night and wonder what is wrong with their child. Eventually, for the sake of stability in the household, Donny would be asked to leave when he turns eighteen. He seethes with rage when he sees Facebook posts of his parents and siblings laughing on a camping trip. He breaks a glass when he sees his parents in a group hug with his brother after he has graduated with the highest honors at xyz college. Donny's only joy is imagining his revenge.

It's truly sad in a way. Donny was broken from birth. He had a horrible father who fed the beast. He had a mother who probably saw something strange in her boy and handed him over to the ugly, racist, slumlord father. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Sadder yet, is we still don't know how to deal with mentally ill people. Many are sitting in cardboard boxes, lined along a filthy sidewalk, in a city, where they are ignored, overlooked, or face judgement by those who have not one clue what it is like to be in a world they cannot comprehend nor endure. And now the number one crazy man is at the helm and is slashing and burning any help for the vulnerable, to line his own pockets. 

We certainly all have first row seats to the unraveling before us. Funny, how we sit in our chairs, watch the orange clown with horror, boo the performance, and wait for the next act. That is exactly what we are witnessing. A sad, sick little man who is seeking revenge, spreading his poison as it seeps into our brains as well. There is no hope for Donald. He is far too fractured to fix. I just hope we can recover our shattered hearts and minds someday.