The White House

President Trump knew my Dad. He was Dad’s cadet company first Sgt at NYMA. After school, Dad became a B-52 navigator. On Dec 21, 1972, 18 of the men in Dad’s squadron were killed over Hanoi. Men I knew. Men I wrestled with, called “Uncle”, went on fishing and camping trips. All gone. Mom took a new anxiety med called Valium, woke on the floor with me screaming over her, I thought she was dead. She flushed the rest of the pills. My babysitter was the Thai wife of one of Dad’s best friends. She disappeared after his death. His remains were repatriated in the 80’s. Those men all died fighting Communism. I enlisted to do the same. And now we have Communist vermin polluting our government all across this country. For the sake of their memories, something must be done, or their sacrifices meant nothing. Before he died in 2020, Dad told me that he was the lucky one; he wouldn’t have to live to watch those animals turn this country into Cambodia under Pol Pot. He was right.