What Kind of World?

I flew back to Nebraska from Germany on the morning after the elections, with the final result slowly and painfully becoming evident, overwhelmed by a feeling I'd never experienced before. A feeling similar to gloom, or dread, or even complete despair. I've felt all of these before, of course, but always about myself, never in general, never so profound. I think what made it even worse for me was the fact that my son had been born in Nebraska exactly five weeks earlier.

I had come to fatherhood late, and as with everything else important in my life, by accident. I had stumbled onto books. Tripped into writing. Fallen into marriage. Landed by chance in that strange heart-land known as Nebraska. And now, at forty-five, found myself flying back home from Germany to a newborn son who would grow up, I slowly started to realize, in a country not only governed by a racist, a misogynist, a demagogue, a vulgar and lying con man, but also among a populace where he and his message of hatred had thrived. We Jews know his shyster type. We Latin Americans know his bullying type. But this was different. This was larger. This felt as if something essential had just been shattered, as if something cavernous and evil had just woken up.

The night after the elections, once home in Nebraska, feeling jet-lagged and with my son fast asleep in my arms, I came across some photos of President Obama taken by White House photographer Pete Souza. President Obama lying on the floor of the Oval Office as he holds up a toddler dressed as an elephant. President Obama running around his desk while he's being chased by a girl in a pink dress. President Obama bending over—almost bowing—so that a little black boy from Philadelphia can pat his hair, to see if it feels like his own. President Obama racing three children down the Colonnade. President Obama on his hands and knees so that he can look a baby girl in the eye. President Obama pretending to be captured by the invisible web of a very young Spiderman. I stopped looking through the photos and instead looked down at my son, his face at peace and beautiful, his dreams still pure and untouched, and wondered what kind of world would our children inherit? What kind of world will you inherit?, I asked him out loud, my voice cracking a bit. But my son just kept on sleeping.