I've Known This Guy

When I was younger. Men from a certain generation (maybe they exist now, too, I just don't know them), the parents of some of my friends. You know, guys who are Trump's age. At least at home - most weren't big enough shits in life too pull it off outside the home - everybody had to circle around and make sure that Daddy was ok, that Daddy got what he wanted for dinner, that people talked about what Daddy wanted to talk about, which was, of course, Daddy. Their moods would fluctuate wildly, from amusing (a bit, anyway) raconteur to despondent black hole. Everybody spent all their time doing what they could to keep Daddy happy, though there really wasn't anything that could be done.

Mr. Trump grew increasingly angry on Inauguration Day after reading a series of Twitter messages pointing out that the size of his inaugural crowd did not rival that of Mr. Obama’s in 2009. But he spent his Friday night in a whirlwind of celebration and affirmation. When he awoke on Saturday morning, after his first night in the executive mansion, the glow was gone, several people close to him said, and the new president was filled anew with a sense of injury.