Before I Was a Twinkle

Before I was even a twinkle in his eye,
My father risked his life

To fight in a foreign land
Against a great evil.

Now that evil has taken root here,
And grows steadily stronger

Nurtured by fools
In the country that he loved.        

FASCISM DOESN’T START FULL-GROWN.

Before he was my father, before he had even met my mother, when he was little more than a child – my father put his life on the line to fight against a great and horrible evil.

This evil had started small, and quietly, many years before. Most didn’t know what it was, or even see it at all. Which is how it continued to exist, and to grow as it did, steadily, in disguise – fed by lies, and watered with fear and irrational hatred of “The Other.”

Finally, it grew so big and powerful, no one could continue denying it, pretending it wasn’t real, or making excuses for the terrible things it was doing. Everyone could see it. Even the gullible who had helped it grow, thinking it was their friend, knew the truth now.

But it was too late, because the giant evil was in charge now, no longer in disguise, much too powerful for them to stop. It became so big and loud and destructive, the whole world heard.

So, the world came together to fight it.

My father joined that fight. He faced horror and brought home heartbreak.

But he was proud of what he had stood up for, glad he had done his part to protect his country, to help put down something so horrible, to restore some peace and safety in the world.

The giant evil seemed to be gone then, or at least weakened, contained. It seemed this way for many years, for decades.

But then some evil wind blew a spore to our soil and it took root.

Evil gardeners are here who know how to make it grow. They have the lies and apply them skillfully to manufacture the fear and the hate. They know exactly what they are doing, and they recruit help from minds ripe for convincing that they are doing something else entirely.

These helpers think they are making something great. They don’t know that what they are really doing is growing evil. They won’t know until it is big enough to drop its disguise and turn on them, which it will if nothing stops it and they live long enough to see it full-grown.

When that happens, they should stand up and explain themselves, apologize to their grandchildren – especially their granddaughters – and to the rest of their fellow citizens.

It is the same evil. It may wear different clothes, and say some different words (among many of the same ones, because it is the same and part of it wants to tell you.) Not all of the horrific acts will be exactly the same. But they will be horrific. Some of them are already happening.

It is here now. And it is growing. Steadily and surely just like before, nurtured by fools.

Right here in the country my father loved and thought they had made safe from such things.

Unknown's avatar

About dahnajeen

I'm Donna Jean Hunter. I'm also Donna Cox - former married name and the name I share with my children and with my ex-husband, father of my children, and friend, David Cox. My 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Patterson told me I was a great writer and would be an author when I grew up. She always had me read my stories to the class, and even took me around to the other classrooms to have me read to them. I'm pretty sure the other kids all hated me that year. I don't care though. I love Mrs. Patterson. Of course she did not know then about the Internet and blogging, how much of what people read would no longer be on paper - and how much of it would be done for free! - when I grew up. I have had 10 or 12 of my pieces published in college literary journals, and for a while during college, I actually received pay for working as a technical writer. Then for a few years I taught writing to teenagers as a high school English teacher. But other than that, I can't say I'm a writer in the sense that it is what I do for a living. But I am a writer. I have been all my life and can’t see myself ever stopping whether anyone reads it or not. I hope someone enjoys some of it.
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