Every family has one.

That uncle, aunt, cousin, or distant relation who shows up at family gatherings and immediately creates a scene by expressing an opinion that alienates almost everyone else. You know the type. The person who walks into the kitchen and, if they see a male relative cooking, asks to see his estrogen patch. Or who insists the moon landing was faked, the earth is flat, cranberry sauce is a government tracking device, and pumpkin spice lattes are a communist conspiracy designed to decimate American agriculture.

They have an opinion about everything, backed only by “facts” picked up from Fox News, Joe Rogan’s podcast, and however Alex Jones is pushing out conspiracies these days. Every encounter leaves you wondering what meds they’re on and hoping they won’t be invited to the next reunion. But somehow, they always are.

I am ashamed to admit that I have one too. We call him Uncle Trump. And I wouldn’t bring him up, except I was guilted into visiting him last week. My cousin called and said, “None of the siblings will go, and you know how cranky he gets if people don’t visit and tell him how wonderful he is. Please.” So I took one for the team. I needed the mitzvah points.

I found him sitting on the porch of his “home.” He was wearing a bright red hat that read in capital white letters: I AM RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING, and a t-shirt stretched to its structural limits: Most Honest Man Alive. In front of him were the remains of his lunch—two Big Macs, two Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, and a Diet Coke.

“Uncle Trump,” I said, “that’s quite the lunch. I thought you had started a new health regime?”

“This is healthy! I didn’t have a shake or fries.”

“But didn’t Dr. Kennedy tell you to eat more organic food and less fast food?”

He gave me a look. “First of all, he’s not a doctor. Doctors only tell you things you don’t want to hear because they have”—he raised his fingers in air quotes—“‘the facts.’ I like advice from people who think outside the box and give me explanations that make sense to me. Plus, he has the same tanning coach I do. Second, fast food is good for you. It’s always prepared the same way, tastes the same everywhere, and no one can slip poison into it. Just think how many lives fast food has saved from poisoning.”

“And who am I to argue with the man who is right about everything,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“But doesn’t that diet make you gain weight? That’s a couple thousand calories, and you don’t exercise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I weigh the same as I did in college. Two hundred and ten pounds. Kennedy told me so yesterday.”

I could have told him I also weigh 210 but with a waist eight inches smaller and six inches shorter. But since he’s “right about everything,” I tried a different tack.

“And what do you do for exercise?”

“I golf every day.”

“But you drive a cart.”

“Yes, and you have no idea how hard that is…”

I did. It isn’t. But why argue with the man who never lies?

So I switched subjects. “When are you going to get the new COVID vaccine?”

“You know I invented it.”

“I do. You remind us all the time. So are you going to get it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Kennedy says it doesn’t work.”

“But didn’t it save millions of lives during the pandemic?”

“Kennedy says that’s a hoax by researchers who only care about facts, not conjecture. And I believe that.”

“I’m confused. Didn’t you just take credit for inventing it?”

“Yes. I should get a prize.”

“Then why not get the vaccine?”

“Because we get too many shots.”

“But haven’t they saved hundreds of millions of lives, trillions in medical costs, and prevented countless illnesses?”

Uncle Trump looked at me as if I were being difficult. “What’s your point?”

I took a breath. “Don’t you think getting advice from Kennedy is a bad idea? Wouldn’t it be better to listen to someone who actually went to medical school or is at least a trained scientist?”

He shrugged. “I like contrary opinions.”

“Yeah, but Kennedy used heroin as a study aid, had a worm in his brain, and lets his grandchildren swim in polluted creeks. Don’t you think there are more qualified, less compromised people for contrary opinions?”

“But he laughs at my jokes. And when I offer an opinion, he always agrees with me.”

“Oh.” Since this was going nowhere, I asked, “How’s your friend Jeffrey?”

“You didn’t hear? They threw him out of the home! Said he was diddling the candy stripers.”

“Didn’t you hang out with him all the time? Whenever I visited, you two were thick as thieves. You didn’t know?”

He winked. “Of course not.”

“How could you not?”

“Well, I mean, I knew he liked young girls. Who doesn’t? But not that young.”

“What’s ‘that young’?”

“You know… young young.”

At this point, I’d had enough of Uncle Trump. “I have to go. I left Rosie the Wonderdog in the car, and she gets antsy if I’m away too long.”

He shot me a horrified look and whispered urgently, “You shouldn’t have done that. Don’t you know this place is crawling with Haitian immigrants? They steal pets and eat them. Kennedy told me.”

“Oy,” I thought. Out loud, I just said, “Guess I’d better run then.”