Me: Hey Dad, remember that time I was in grade school and the principal called because I was making fun of that kid in our class with a stutter and a leg brace?
You hit me so hard I think I might have passed out. But it was worse seeing Mom cry. “Inexcusable” was the word you used over and over. Inexcusable.
That didn’t really happen – not all the parts together in any order – but it’s what I always imagined, and what I figured just about every kid I knew at the time expected would happen if such behavior was ever reported back to our parents. Swift, brutal, righteous pain topped with a heap of mortifying guilt. And we’d know we deserved it.
What I never imagined, never could imagine, Dad, was that I would see you in a crowd someday, laughing, applauding, and cheering for someone who does things like that.
Nothing is inexcusable it seems. Childhood gods and heroes die, drowned by the tide of angry voices. We see them embracing fear and shouting down calls for decency and mercy. Still brutal and righteous; now whipped into a lather and driven like dumb, angry beasts. Cry the beloved emoji.
–OP 3/16/24
Summary Judgements by Officer Phil 