For years I rolled my eyes, changed the channel, walked past the book rack and generally thought of Donald Trump as a particularly over-inflated type of Noo Yawk gasbag – ego has to get the biggest stage possible, ruder even than Massholes, claims international stature but wallows in rich-glob ignorance. Then he spewed his shit about the Central Park Five. After that, I hated the fucking racist.
For more than 30 years, in addition to innumerable odd stares, this is the type of questions my wife and I have gotten from goddamned strangers (my wife Donna is Chinese):
“What’s it like being part of an interracial couple?”
“How did you two get together, really?”
“How do you deal with her family?”
“Hey buddy, why are you picking up her packages?”
And one we still hear on a regular basis —
“Are you two together?”
And with every day I became more convinced that racial bigotry had no place in the America I was promised. To turn that back now at the highest office in the land … there aren’t consequences severe enough.