Screaming at my Grandma on the Fourth of July: Part I I don’t even remember the comment that started it. The grenade released. The earth-shattering, war-mongering sentence that was thrown into the middle of my safe haven, the place I call home. To the best of my recollection, it was something along the lines of, “We can just lock all the kids in Central America up in cages!” It was stated by an extended family member who is hard to love. One who, for lack of knowing him better, has become a familial amalgamation of Trump supporters. Someone who enjoys his incendiary statements. If given a Facebook, he would certainly be the one sharing ludicrous memes and throwing around the term “triggered” for the sake of mockery. The word-grenade was irrelevant to the conversation. It was thrown out with a grin as he was getting up from the table. It was undeniably, irrefutably, incontestably… bait. I took it. For years, I had done a good job of rolli...