I Got Trump Wrong; He’s Nothing Like a Two-Year-Old

My apologies

Photo of book about The illustrations of Judith Kerr, author’s own

I try not to malign people. I try to understand them.

As such, I always thought Donald Trump was a two-year-old misplaced in a geriatric body. How else to explain the demanding ego, the short attention span, the unfiltered thoughts, the absence of social intelligence, the tantrums, the meltdowns, the lies, the inability to speak in sentences, the my-dick’s-bigger-than-yours attitude?

He had serious arrested development, I thought. Two years old makes sense, I thought.

More perplexing was why so many Americans would vote for a man-child who would treat nuclear weapons like a tower of ABC blocks to be mindlessly kicked.

But just this week I’ve had to change my understanding of this infantile being who is threatening to become US President. As if the world wasn’t bad enough, what with Gaza and Haiti and Russia and Ukraine and the price of tofu rising and broccoli sprouts hard to source.

Because every so often, life throws you a thing of beauty and a thing of beauty is a joy forever said Keats. A chance encounter may raise your perceptions, your understandings and suddenly shifts your paradigm. And it is well to dwell on such moments, such fortune, and to appreciate every fibre of fate…