Watching the last few years of American politics from my side of the fence, I am absolutely flabbergasted by how deeply entrenched and polarized the two parties have become. I might debate an issue I believe in, but I'll go home and consider it from both sides. My grandma was the same way.
On August 9, 1945, just before 11 a.m., a solitary American bomber is making its final approach on the Japanese city of Nagasaki. In the form of a plutonium 235 bomb called Fat Man, resembling a giant winged tumor, the B-29 is carrying death for some 100,000 Japanese. At that same moment, my aunt Reggie is almost directly below the bomber.