William Allen

Imagine being this woman, Beverly Aiken. Growing up poor in an abusive home and a dying Rust Belt city, little stability and even less opportunity. You have a couple kids at a young age, but it’s not easy being a single mom in Middletown, Ohio, so you send JD and Lindsay to live with grandma. She’s tough, but it’s better than having them watch you struggle through your own battles with addiction. JD’s a good kid, though, and a sharp one too. Despite the odds, he sticks with school, and he gets good grades. Since college isn’t in the cards for a poor kid from Middletown, he joins the Marine Corps. You’re probably really proud to see him in his dress blues. You’re probably also proud when he gets out and uses the GI Bill to become the first person in your family to get a college degree. Ohio State’s a good school, but JD’s not done. In fact, he’s just getting started. He heads out east, to go to Yale Law School. They say it’s one of the best programs in the country. He meets a beautiful young woman there, graduates, and gets a job as a lawyer. He’s gone from Middletown, Ohio, to some of the most prestigious companies in the world. You probably never imagined that possibility when he first shipped out to Parris Island. The pride you must feel for him. You realize this kid of yours is going places, and it inspires you to get clean. For real this time. But JD’s still not done. He writes a best-selling book; you start seeing him on TV every day. People are whispering about a future in politics—he’s the voice of the forgotten working class, the rare bridge between the blue-collar world you grew up in and the white-collar world he inhabits now. He runs for the US Senate, and, with the support of Donald Trump, pulls off a victory. He’s still just in his 30s. Two more years go by, and Donald Trump needs a running mate. Not just a running mate, but a political heir. He wants that person to be your son. You watch as Trump comes half an inch away from dying on a stage; you watch as he and your son pull off a resounding victory. It’s all surreal. And now you’re standing in the middle of the Capitol rotunda. You just reached 10 years of sobriety. Your son is standing there, hand on a Bible, getting sworn in to be the secondmost powerful person in the America. He’s up there with his wife and their three beautiful kids—and with you. You’ve got to be pretty damn proud of him. But you deserve to be proud for yourself as well. You’ve got a country full of people proud of both of you. Only in America.