The door has barely closed behind me, and I can already hear my wife. The local news is on the television in the living room.
“I knew it. I didn’t want to guess because I didn’t want to be like you, but I kind of knew it.”
Kindness is in my wife’s DNA. She isn’t even slightly cynical. She works in charitable giving. We’re also both recent Catholic converts, so charity is more than just a vocation for her. She actively tries to see the best in people. I work in the media, on the other hand. I carry the bulk of the cynicism and skepticism (and aggression) in the family. Nowadays, I also carry the gun. To us, this all comes pretty naturally.
News broke Tuesday night that a woman had been fatally stabbed near Great Falls national park. By Wednesday, our suspicions had been confirmed.
“The killer was an illegal alien,” my wife said, even as I was still carrying my kids through the door.
Twelve years ago, when I first moved down here to run an ailing newspaper, this kind of stuff almost never happened. The most notable bad policy decision in the DMV was someone deciding metro trains should be carpeted.
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