A Passionate Hatred

If we are to love, let us love intensely; and if we are to hate, let us hate passionately. I am proud that I myself hate with such passion: hate not a person, but a thing, an institution: The Democratic Party. As I write this, that party prepares for the Obama speech and the conclusion of their convention. I haven't watched a minute of it. I cannot. It would make me sick. I am not a cradle Republican. I was born and raised a Democrat. The party came with my mother's milk and my father's provision. And so, when the Party betrayed the Church, in the 1970s, I took it very personally. Think Michael Corleone and his brother Fredo. I don't hate Democrats; I love them. Everyone I work with in Jersey City is a Democrat; so are my mother and (most of) my sisters; so are almost all of my college buddies. I am quite good at distinguishing the person (whom I love) from the party and the political ideology. My love for the person is saddened by their allegiance. But I can only repeat: "They know not what they do." And with the years my contempt and fury at the Party grows deeper, stronger, more sober and clear. On my deathbed my admonition to my children and their children will be to love, tenderly and intensely, our family, our Church and our God. But it will also be to hate and defeat our enemy, The Democratic Party.