My husband and I visited a local brewery Friday evening. And by local, I mean it is within easy walking distance to my house.
As we walked back home we began to talk about the Antifa problem, particularly in Portland.
Those poor people who live in Portland. They have to put up with being intimidated by masked bandits with weapons. On their own streets!
If Antifa was made up of legitimate protesters it would be slightly better. There might be a glimmer of commonsense hidden behind a few of those masks.
But there was nothing legitimate about Antifa. I would bet they were paid to cause trouble and create chaos. Either that, or they need to all go back to school, because they act like-
About then I heard a footstep on the sidewalk and turned to find a young man just a few feet behind us. I gulped as I realized he was the perfect age to be an Antifa goon.
Was he Antifa? Did he overhear me badmouthing his group?
I suddenly felt there was an Antifa goon hiding in every bush, just waiting for the signal to pounce.
My heart started to beat so hard I thought it was going to jump out of my chest and run, screaming, down the street.
What if this Antifa dude followed us and found out where we lived? What if he targeted my family? What if-?
That’s when I slapped myself. Mentally, of course. My husband would have thought I was crazy if I had literally slapped myself as we walked down the street.
I’d decided a long time ago that to live in fear was to barely live at all. It wasn’t going to happen.
So I did the most logical thing. I continued to give my opinion about those cowards and reprobates who call themselves Antifa, only louder.
After all, how can my voice be heard if I whisper?