Watergate is a vague memory. I remember liking Nixon, but I’m sure that’s because family spoke positively of him. The time of impeachment was a time of frowns and anger. A time to not say anything and stay out of the way of every adult.
When it was over, there was a finality. A sort of “Nixon did it to himself” and a distancing from things… because it was a single incident rather than the failure of an entire party. I remember the set of my grandmother’s chin, mouth in a thin line of anger. Disgust.
I remember seeing that same disgust when we visited Washington DC, when a tour pointed out the Watergate Hotel. I tried to understand how a hotel brought down everyone’s dreams. Was it the strange build? Is that what did it? Was it the round shape or the odd lighting?
Years later I understood the points of Watergate better, but part of me to this day has a lingering impression that architecture somehow unmade a President. That Watergate hotel was haunted, and a memorial to all the things stopped in their tracks–that changed direction.
Many things in life do that, create different directions. But the thing that never changes, is we go on those new directions together. I admit that experiencing a Trump Presidency has been a challenging change of course. An unwanted, new direction.
I can feel that set of my grandmother’s chin, looking back at me in the mirror. Disgust … Anger. Finality. The heart of a person who is shutting a door. I really don’t care what side of it Trump believers are on when it closes. Would say I “just don’t care” but justice has nothing to with it. I never had trouble throwing babies out with bathwater. Something I learned from Watergate.