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Dear Dolly Mama,
I am about to lose my best friend from college over Trump. She loves him; I don’t. She thinks of him the way she thought about that first boyfriend. Her so-called thinking occurred magically, unrealistically, stupidly, and with all her might. I feel as strongly in the other direction about Trump and also didn’t like the boyfriend. But the boyfriend only broke her heart. Trump passively murders people by not attending to the science of public health. My friend’s boyfriend stepped out on her, within minutes of her losing her virginity to him. I really love her, and moreover, really like her. And I don’t have a lot of friends left to share secrets like that with. What shall I do? Drop her and break her heart and mine too? Or try civility? Or try nonviolent conflict resolution? Shall we go into therapy together? What to do?
Dear College Sweetheart,
I don’t know how anybody can like a murderer. So, you might want to back off that language and its idea, (which strikes me as true). Still, I’m not about to pay the big bill on my values that you are. Values are “priceless,” but so is losing a friend. What if you paddled out of the red/blue tributary into a purple one, one where politics were always off the table and never, ever on the table? There you could discuss virginities and the past with mutual respect. There you could remember what you used to laugh at. You’re not going to stop Trump from being a murderer by fighting with your best friend from college. And you are faced with a double bind: either way you lose something. A friend or your politics.
Politics are beautiful, purposeful, and core-making. So perhaps, you could do reparations around the loss of your politics. Fight harder somewhere else for your politics. Ask the college reunion class to hold a debate between the two of you, which might calm you both down and get you interested in convincing people rather than just being right. You might de-emotionalize the situation. Or show that kind of executive function and personal self-differentiation which is maturity: You and I don’t have to be the same. We are still best friends and this is why we fight.
I just asked the class of 1965 at the Martinsburg high School in West Virginia, my alma mater, to hold a debate between those of us who are apoplectic about Trump and those who are not. My request is being debated. At least that is a better forum than cocktails or a sleepover or a vacation together, which is what you two should be doing.
By the way, my dad’s first name is Donald. He is just like Donald Trump. He is dead and never really dead to me, so I still refer to him in the present tense.
He never met a subject on which he was not an expert. He never considered a sentence that didn’t refer to himself positively. Self-referential was his middle name. He had a very hard time in life being liked. He was a rabid Republican and thought law and order was the name for God. He came to my college in 1968 and punched the chaplain out for “encouraging” me to go to Washington for the peace march.
His father died when he was 4; he was raised by his mother who thinned the soups and got the browned bananas for free. He was dirt poor, and short, with three older sisters who were also poor but tall. He comleted his formal education at the eighth grade. His mother became a pretty good gambler in attempts to support them. My dad, Donald, had a way of always being furious about everything and everyone.
After decades and thousands of dollars of therapy, I came to respect his underdog story. I never respected his copious methods of coping. I still can’t. There were other ways; he just didn’t like them. While I did not cry at his funeral, I did stop hating him.
I don’t know anyone who doesn’t occasionally get hooked on another person’s behavior or beliefs. Why not unhook just a little and take your friend on her own terms. Why not just love/like her anyway? What’s the harm? And what do you gain if you continue to be right in your relationship? Your ability to care just might outlast hers.
Who is the Dolly Mama?
The Dolly Mama is a spiritual version of Dear Abby. Her intention is to combine the irreverence of Dolly Parton with the surrender and non-attachment beloved by Buddhists. She wants to let go of what can’t be fixed – in either self or others – and fix what can by applying the balm of humor.
She is a spiritual handyperson, a soul mechanic, a repairer of broken appliances. Every now and then the combination of letting go and hanging on achieves sufficient balance for an improvement in spiritual posture, stronger spine and personal peace. The Dolly Mama is not her day job. By day, she works as an ordained United Church of Christ and American Baptist pastor of a regular, if edgy, congregation.