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Most of the other great-grandchildren were timid in Wilma Jean’s presence. They’d read all the fairy tales about old ladies who poisoned apples and gnawed on little-kid bones. Wilma Jean wondered if the tales had been invented by old ladies who’d already raised their own damn children and just wanted to live the rest of their lives in peace.
“The Nazis were monsters to kill little girls.” “I know that’s what people say,” Mr. Stempel told her. “But most of them weren’t. They were just ordinary people. That’s what makes them so terrifying. Monsters you can fight. But when the people who come for you in the night are your neighbors and coworkers and classmates . . . When you never know who’s sick and who’s not . . .” He shrugged. “Sick?” “Hate is a disease, Dawn.”
I think you’re scared that your children are going to open a book and discover the truth. They’ll realize that the Holocaust happened and that slavery was worse than they ever imagined. They’ll find out that both men and women like sex and that gay and trans folks are just regular people. These seem to be the things you’re trying so hard to hide from them. Why is that?”
“Once Jesus arrived on the scene, all those Old Testament laws no longer applied. The New Testament tells us we’re supposed to follow Christ, not the old ways. And as far as I know, Jesus never said a damn thing about gay folks or barbecue. But he sure did talk a lot about love.”
With the television off, all they’d had to guide them was common sense and good hearts. No one told them to be scared, so they weren’t. No one told them who their enemies were, so they didn’t have any.
