Less than a week before the election, I decided to make one final attempt to open a dialogue with my father. I say “open a dialogue” because, well, we don’t talk about politics, and we haven’t for years. He’s a two-time Trump voter. I knew my chances of changing his mind were slim—but saying something felt better than saying nothing at all. And by saying something I mean I sent a text. To my dad. Who lives in the same city and who I see at least every other week. I copied and pasted a message