Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time for joy, gratitude, and connection. The food, the laughter, the little traditions—it’s the one day we put our differences aside to come together. But sometimes, a line gets crossed so far that no turkey or pumpkin pie can save it. This year, my Thanksgiving dinner turned into a battle I never wanted to fight, but one I couldn’t avoid.
Let’s get this straight: why do MAGA family members think they can spew hateful, racist opinions with total impunity? It’s as if they believe “freedom of speech” comes with zero consequences—as if their “opinions” are more sacred than anyone else’s humanity.
My dad, a man I used to look up to, has gone so far down the MAGA rabbit hole that every conversation with him now comes preloaded with anger and misinformation. If you bring up the weather, he’ll tie it to politics. A funny memory? Oh, that’ll get hijacked for a Fox News talking point. It’s exhausting. But this year, he escalated beyond the usual rants and grievances.
It started like every Thanksgiving: tense but manageable. Then, somewhere between the stuffing and the mashed potatoes, he dropped a racist comment about a biracial member of our own family. Yes, someone we love. Someone who belongs at the same table where he felt entitled to spew hatred. I had no choice but to look him in the eye and say:
“Dad, our relationship is just about over. I’m not going to listen to you make hateful, racist comments. You’re on the verge of me never speaking to you again.”
His response? Predictably MAGA.
"I’m not allowed to have an opinion? You’re going to write me off over politics? That’s not fair!"
An opinion? Let’s talk about that word. An opinion is whether you like your cranberry sauce jellied or whole. It’s whether the Lions are going to win the game. Racism isn’t an opinion—it’s a moral failing. It’s not about politics; it’s about basic decency. And the idea that I’m “writing him off” like this is somehow my fault? No. That’s the kind of toxic thinking that MAGA culture thrives on—this warped belief that their hateful speech is untouchable and that the rest of us are obligated to sit quietly and endure it.
I won’t. I can’t. And if you’ve been in this situation, you shouldn’t either. Love doesn’t mean silence. Family doesn’t mean enabling hatred. We’ve all been forced to reckon with that as MAGA relatives go deeper into their echo chambers, parroting Trump, Vance, or Fox as though they’re gospel. It’s heartbreaking.
I’m sharing this song for anyone who’s ever sat at a table and realized they couldn’t stay silent. For anyone who had to choose between peace and speaking the truth. Feel free to call this song yours, because I know I’m not the only one. I hope it brings you some relief, some clarity, or even just a sense that you’re not alone.
This Thanksgiving, I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t lose myself. I lost a little bit of the illusion that some bonds can’t be broken. But I gained the courage to say, “Enough.” If you’re in this fight, too, just know that you’re standing on the right side of history.
And when they say, “It’s just politics!” remind them: that humanity isn’t up for debate. 💔 - Rick Gaspa
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