Pardon Me, Mr. President?

Donald Trump is correct. He can pardon himself. But he’ll never be forgiven.

I pardon you, Mr. President, for colluding with the Russians, conspiring with White Nationalists and suckling the man-boobs of Steve Bannon.

But I will never forgive you for Charlottesville.

I pardon Roseanne Barr for her unexplored racism, egomaniacal twitter tantrums and baking Work Will Set You Free Cookies dressed as Hitler.

But I will never forgive ABC for pretending they didn’t know.

I pardon Samantha Bee for bending the arc of laughter toward justice, for speaking truth to power, for apologizing when she didn’t have anything to apologize for.

But I will never forgive those who drew a false equivalence between Roseanne Barr and Samantha Bee.

I pardon myself for leaving a wake of pain behind me in my 20’s, dating to win, rolling my eyes at four magic words, “Sorry I Was Wrong.” I was 33 years old before I knew how to admit I was wrong.

But I will never forgive myself for overstaying my welcome on Saint Marks Place. I should have left after 9/11. But I was too stubborn, holding on to a city that didn’t want me anymore, using my savings account to make rent instead of admitting defeat and moving on.

I pardon the north shore community of my youth for pretending that violence was a “south side thing,” racism was a context for jokes and girls went to college to get an MRS Degree.

But I will never forgive the north shore community of my youth for shunning me on Rosh Hashanah, for thoughtlessly taking the side of racists and Anti-Semites when the twitter shitstorm hit. You get what you give.

I posthumously pardon The Ghost of Grandpa Bernie. He taught my family winning was everything, kindness was for sale and struggling was something you could buy your way out of instead of doubling down to find a quiet sense of joy on the other side of getting your ass handed to you.

But I will never forgive him for destroying my Grandma Heather for no better reason than this: because he could. This is the mantra of white male privilege and the calling card of President Trump.

He’ll pardon himself because he can and like my Grandma Heather, we’ll do nothing about it other than lay in bed, pouting.