CUT IT WITH A KNIFE

1. It’s Tuesday, November 8, 2016.

It’s Election Day.

Finally.

2. I was driving home from my teaching job yesterday afternoon. Through some affluent suburbs in northern New Jersey. A leafy town called Franklin Lakes, where several McMansions have sprouted, including one that’s just about finished.

It was a gorgeous fall afternoon. The leaves were a little past peak, but not much. There’s still some vibrant oranges and yellow among the about-to-fall-off browns. The sky was deep blue, the roads were relatively empty.

And I’m thinking.

In 48 hours, how I’m viewing this scene will be completely altered.

Will it be something I’ll remember fondly, the portent of a hopeful future? Gliding into my elder years with my family. Worrying about the day-to-day things of personal life.

Or will I look back at the drive as the last days of peace in our lives? Will I go from a caring, welcoming, open country to a place where differences are demonic? Where you’re only as worthy as what you muscle your way to? Where truth is meaningless, and entitlement reigns?

This election is finally here. The decision is ours.

It could be a different world when I make the same drive tomorrow. I wonder how different.

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