You can call me Sebastian. Yeah, like the guy in all of those old paintings.
My family has lived in this small town for nearly a hundred years. My daddy, his daddy, and his daddy before that. We’ve all managed to make a living here. We sure weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either. We stood on our feet and never, ever asked for any government welfare. I’m proud of that.
Over the last 30 years or so, life has gotten harder. It’s tough to make a living these days, with the Chinese and all. And the thing is, the government doesn’t care about people like me. They only care about illegal immigrants and gays and blacks and other people who want to pick my pocket and get cuts in line. Then they call me a bigot and say I have “white privilege.” Right! All I do is work hard and pay the bills for everyone else! What kind of privilege is that?
Trump? Hell, I know he isn’t perfect. Sometimes I just want to jump through the screen and tell him to shut up. But the thing is–he’s on my side! He knows who the enemy is. He’s trying his best to shake things up and help people like me. Maybe he doesn’t always succeed, but at least he’s trying. That’s more than anyone else in Washington is doing.
Would I risk my life for him and go to restaurants and bars with the virus still going? Damn right! I’m not doing it for him; I’m doing it for myself and my kids and grandchildren. I don’t want them growing up in a world where white Christians aren’t respected. Trump is the only thing between us and that world. We have to do what we can to help him out.