The Red Hat

On that Sunday in mid-June, when Fathers are celebrated and given gifts they will probably never use, along with a portable golf ball heater, Dave Roth’s son Jeff proudly presented his father with a red baseball cap emblazoned with the words “MAKE DONALD TRUMP DRUMPF AGAIN.” Dave was thrilled. I can’t wait to wear it,” he said. “Be careful Dad, you may run into a Bernie supporter who will mistake it for the real thing and beat the crap out of you,” Jeff said half jokingly, knowing how rabid Bernie supporters could be. “Don’t worry Jeff, I can defend myself, after all I was captain of my college baseball team and I’m still in great shape.” “Please Dad, that was fifty years ago, get serious.” “Besides, in this Liberal neighborhood such a thing is highly unlikely to occur,” answered Dave smugly.

Later that afternoon, Dave came out of Zabar’s and stopped to check his receipt. He felt a light, chilly rain beginning to fall. “I’m glad I wore my new hat,” he thought as he pulled it down tight around his ears. “It will keep me dry until I get home.” Suddenly a burly man came up to him and said in a loud, strident voice, “A Trump hat! What the hell is that? Why are you wearing a Trump hat?” “Oh this is just a parody of a Trump hat,” said Dave. “You see Drumpf was the old Trump family name.” The man answered quickly,”I didn’t understand a word you said. What the hell is a parody? Are you making fun of me?” Then in one swift motion he ripped Dave’s hat from his head, threw it in the gutter, and smacked Dave in the face, breaking his glasses. Dave fell backward into the wall, as his legs gave way. Slumping forward, he felt that old familiar pain in his chest, the shortness of breath, the dizziness, the nausea, and before his knees hit the ground he thought, “I should have felt the Bern!”