They killed Bobby Kennedy

When I visited Arlington Cemetery some years ago, I happened upon Bobby Kennedy's grave. I was thirteen when he was shot down in California, and did not really understand the implications. He represented hope, I have come to believe, and "they" killed that hope.

My greatest fear for this coming election is that "they" will strike again. I hope there is a Democratic wave of epic proportions. Yet if there is, I fear that the backlash will take deadly form.

The hate on the other side is palpable, from our spittle-flecked president to frothing radio and television mouthpieces. Theirs is the side that has the guns and the desire to use them. The codpiece-in-chief can call out the tanks. He has as much as called me a terrorist, although I am sure he does not know me from Adam.

Words have power, and while my fear is that some wingnut will take deadly aim at a prominent Democrat, my hope of course is that they really are just all talk.