When Your Father Starts Shooting Heroin

In my neighborhood I am surrounded by ebullient Obama supporters. Signs, banners, stickers all proclaim the victory of the Wicked Man. My neighbors are rejoicing in the destruction of our country. The sadness in my heart is almost more than I can bear. All I can compare it to is the feeling I might have had if I'd discovered my Father had become a heroin addict. It looks like the country I love, and it sounds like the country I love but it is something else now. It is self-absorbed, short-sighted, willing to sacrifice every good thing to sate evil desire, forgetful of the past, and self-destructive. But there are memories of good things, of the way we used to be.