Jeff Whitten, local columnist

A Republican friend told me recently I have Trump Derangement Syndrome.

I begged to differ.

“I didn’t vote for the man,” I said. “Hence, I’m not the one deranged.”

Or maybe I am and just don’t know it yet. Which is how it is, I suspect, when you’re off your rocker.

You think you’re perfectly normal and the rest of the world has lost the plot. And yet, all of us old enough to vote are probably crazy to some extent, and the older we are the crazier we get.

Deranged by our circumstances, or about something we’ve been exposed or subjected to – too much or too little education, chemicals in the air and water, developers, social media, weird billionaires, yankees who move down here and buy up all the water and toilet paper every time it rains hard, the sort of religion that makes one hate other religions, keeping up with the Joneses, the self-esteem movement, house flippers, driving in Richmond Hill traffic, squirrels that raid my bird feeders, UGA football, etc. I could go on but won’t.

Mostly, suffice it to say I think we’re all of us who’ve been around a bit weird at this point, if the sort of people we tend to try and elect to represent us are any indication. As an old Army buddy once put it, politics is show business for people who are not good looking enough to get into show business. I think he meant that they’re motivated, by and large, by the same “look at me,” sort of megalomania that motivates those who want to be the center of attention or own all the world’s money, or have one’s name on all the important buildings.

But what do I know?

Not much. The only thing I am expert in is making a mess. Just ask my wife.

The thing is, while all of us have our eccentricities and maladjustments, most of us aren’t powerful enough to ruin someone else’s day when we go further off the deep end, or put lives at risk.

Which is a good thing.

Otherwise, that old saying your right to swing your fist ends when it connects with my nose, or however it words itself, would likely often apply, at least to all of us whose fists aren’t big enough to matter much in the great scheme of things. Nations and economies won’t falter and children won’t die because I don’t like the homebuilder’s industrial complex or think Christian nationalism can be just as dangerous as that brand of religion practiced by the Taliban.

Those with bigger fists, or bullier pulpits, can get away with wreaking havoc. Some among us will even cheer them on.

But you wonder, or perhaps should wonder, where we’re going to be in 20 years – because for the last couple of decades and despite advancements in science, many things have gotten progressively worse, both here, where developers are doing their best to mess this place up beyond redemption, and nationally, where our government seems more like a sort of botox-heavy banana republic every day.

The only thing I suspect most of us might agree on – at least if we’re paying attention – is that we’re leaving future generations a mess.

A former editor, Whitten is an occasional columnist for the News.