Donald destroyed my father.I can't let my country destroy: Mary Trump
Always too much and never enough: how my family created the most dangerous man in the world, of Mary L. Trump.Fragment published with authorization from Editions Uranus
Foto: Cortesía
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Siempre me ha gustado mi apellido. Cuando era una niña, en las clases de vela, en los años 70, todo el mundo me llamaba Trump. Era un motivo de orgullo, no porque se asociara con poder y bienes raíces (en ese entonces mi familia era desconocida fuera de Brooklyn y Queens), sino porque me gustaba cómo sonaba y me hacía sentir; una niña fuerte de seis años, sin miedo a nada. En la década de los 80, cuando estaba en la universidad y mi tío Donald había empezado a poner el apellido en todos sus edificios en Manhattan, mis sentimientos respecto al nombre comenzaron a cambiar.
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Thirty years later, on April 4, 2017, he was in the quiet car of an Amtrak train that was heading to Washington D.C., to attend a family dinner at the White House.Ten days before I had received an email inviting me to a birthday celebration in honor of my aunts Maryanne, who turned eighty, and Elizabeth, which was serving seventy -five.Her Donald's younger brother had been occupying the Oval Office since January.
When I arrived at Union Station, with its vaulted roofs and black and white marble soils, I passed a seller who had mounted a easel with badges of all kinds: there was my last name in a red circle with a red stripe crossing it, «Deporte to Trump, "they sink Trump" and "Trump is a witch."I put on my sunglasses and accelerated the step.