My critics swear I hate Donald Trump. Set the record straight: I do not hate Donald Trump. After writing two books opposing his rhetoric and actions, The Immaculate Mistake and Good and Evil in the Garden of Democracy, and more than 600 articles, I have never felt an ounce of hatred. I simply don’t like Trump.

Like Sam of “I don’t like green eggs and ham” fame, I don’t like Donald Trump. I can’t take him on television, at a live rally, on the radio, in person, in the White House, or outside Trump Tower. I do not like him.

I usually find liking people a cheerful and easy task. After all, I am a trained minister. The church and seminary taught me to be nice. I have expended a lot of energy attempting to like everyone, but I don’t like Donald Trump.

My people like Trump. I grew up in Union Parish, where 73.2% of voters cast ballots for Trump. I don’t understand why so many of my relatives voted for a bullying, blustering, bragging loudmouth reality television star. I have been fretting over this reality for eight years.

My wife says I should tell somebody. Here lately, worry and anger over this mess takes over a percentage of my sleep right off the top. So, I’m telling you, OK?