Member-only story
My Crazy Encounter with a MAGA Stranger
And what I discovered about myself in the process
On an unseasonably warm early Spring day, an afternoon trek in the mountains infused me with hope and energy. I’d spent several hours climbing a local peak, occasionally stopping to close my eyes, soak in the warmth, and inhale the light breeze. All was good in my world.
Once I reached the summit, I soaked in the spectacular views and my mind, clouded with both personal and national struggles, cleared for the first time in days. Gratitude for the accessible nature that consistently restores my hope overwhelmed me.
Sweaty, sunned, and exhausted, I headed toward home ready to tackle whatever awaited me. However, I needed to make a quick stop at my neighborhood corner store.
I pulled into the parking lot and noticed the garish pickup truck with the monster wheels right away. Hooked through wires on the truck bed, three huge flags waved. As I squinted to get a closer look, I felt my stomach drop to my feet. “Er, I think I’ll wait here for awhile,” I thought.
Each obnoxiously large flag promoted Donald Trump. The ubiquitous MAGA flag stood alone, hanging over the back of the truck. A pair of flags waving off of one side of the bed had Trump’s face superimposed on the body of a warrior and “Trump…
