Most people who will read this can’t stand Donald Trump, but I feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s doing his best, according to the way he was brought up. His father, Fred Sr., dominated the house--which he was supposed to do, because it was a different time. Fred’s rule for family males was, you have to win. You don’t win, you’re a loser and might as well die, which Fred Jr. did, while Don went to the movies.
Mary Trump, daughter of that deceased brother, writes in her book and tells TV hosts that she is furious with her uncle, because her father (his older brother) wasn’t deemed suited to enter the family business, which involved lying, cheating, stealing, stiffing contractors, racial discrimination, and things of that nature we see Don doing–imitating Dad, actually--all the time.
Don was a clever kid who figured out how to win Daddy’s approval, and what kid doesn’t crave Daddy’s approval? But Fred wasn’t emotionally configured to be warm and fuzzy to any of his five children, and Mom, who wasn’t well, got squashed anyway.
Don doesn’t do well with women relationships either. His wives were bought and let go, with signed agreements of money for their post-divorce silence. Notice how they’ve shut up. If I recall, Marla’s divorce agreement was signed at the time of their wedding. He probably would have got rid of Melania, but the timing of the president thing got in the way. So she trails after him, and sneaks into the hospital for plastic surgery now and then.
Before he was elected, Don let us see exactly what he is. He said he knows nothing about governing but was sure he could do it anyway. He told lies and lies, and when his candidacy became serious, he would read off a prepared statement saying, for example, that the birther thing, or the pussy thing, wasn’t true. He showed that he can whip up a crowd, and grab headlines in any newspaper.
He’s more entertaining than other candidates, and those who liked that cheered him on. So the electors elected him, and he went on doing all the things we knew about him, and the majority who had voted him in was quietly shocked as they watched him on TV. What are we to think of the ultra-virtuous Pence, or the froglike one Trump rightly called “Lyin’ Ted” Cruz, or Yowling Lindsey?
Now out he goes, lonely and confused, wanting a red carpet and 21-gun salute, desperate to make himself feel good, which nothing can. He cannot give: he can only do “gimme.” He tells rioters and racists he loves them because he cannot lose their love. He cannot “learn his lesson,” Susan Collins. We should stop treating him like an adult. He is a wounded child. We should reach out--because we were part of his election--and gently move him to a big faraway golf course with a burger bar.
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