Lincoln was sitting on his bed and rereading the opening chapter of Mein Kampf when a knock came at the door.

"Yeah," he called without looking up.

The door opened and someone came in. "Do you mind telling me what that was about?" mom asked.

"What what was about?" Lincoln asked, turning the page.

"Lincoln Loud, look at me."

Lincoln sighed and looked up. Mom was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. "What you said to your father."

Lincoln shrugged. "I told him he acts like a cuck."

"What is that?"

"A man like dad."

"Lincoln..."

"Come on, mom. He flits around in a pink apron like a woman. He wouldn't last five minutes on the inside."

"This isn't the 'inside' Lincoln, this is our home, and if your father wants to wear a pink apron, why shouldn't he?"

"It's embarrassing," Lincoln said.

Mom shook her head. "Dinner's almost ready. Wash up."

She left, and Lincoln sighed. Maybe it was wrong to go after dad like that. It wasn't his fault that he had been conditioned that acting like a woman was acceptable. His family was not his enemy. He had to remember that. They needed him now more than ever, and he had to show them the right way. Starting fights with them wouldn't do that. It would push them away.

He sat aside his book and laid back on the bed. He thought of the challenges facing the White Race, and shivered with rage. It was easy to get angry and hopeless. When he got like this, he closed his eyes and thought of Germany and how beautiful it was during the thirties and forties.

It's not about hate, Charlie told him, it's about love, love for your people, love for your race. The White Man could get along with the lesser races just fine. It was the mud people, the filth, the animals, who couldn't get along with the White Man, because they envied the power, wisdom, and wealth of the White Race. That's why the Jews wanted to overthrow Europe. That's why blacks wanted to move into white neighborhoods and drive them into the ground. Spite.

But one day, things would be right. White children would be able to play in the streets without having to worry about child molesters preying on them, they could go to concerts without being blown up, they could have things without little black kids stealing them. Lincoln sighed. It was going to be wonderful.

With a glance up at Hitler, Lincoln got up, went to the bathroom, and washed his hands. Downstairs, dad was just setting the table.

"Hey, dad," Lincoln said. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I guess...it's just an adjustment. You know?"

"I understand," dad said, "and no hard feelings."

"You need some help?"

"Sure."

Lincoln grabbed glasses from the kitchen and sat one next to each plate. His sisters started filtering in, Lola and Lana first, then Lucy, then Lisa. When everyone was present, they sat.

"Would you like to say grace tonight, Lincoln?" dad asked.

"Sure," Lincoln said, folding his hands and bowing his head. The others followed.

"Dear Lord, thank you for the food we are about to eat, and thank you for the bravery of White Men across the country. Thank you for Adolf Hitler and thank you for the Ku Klux Klan. Amen."

No one said 'amen.' Mom glared at him, but didn't speak. Lori looked disgusted. Luan, bless her heart, did her best to lighten the mood: "I did Nazi that coming."

"W-Well, let's eat," dad said.

Lincoln dug in, He had never liked his father's beans and franks before, but after six months of prison slop, it might as well have been manna fallen from the sky. As he ate, his sisters talked. Luna about an upcoming talent show, Luan about her comedy website. Lisa was on the verge of another scientific breakthrough, and Lana was in the middle of rebuilding the engine block of a '68 Mustang. It struck Lincoln that his absence had ultimately made no difference to his siblings. While he was in a cell, they went on with their lives as though nothing had happened. Of course that was to be expected. What else were they to do, dress in black and mourn? Still, for right or wrong, it hurt.

"After dinner I'm going over to Bobby's," Lori said.

Lincoln choked on a piece of hotdog.

"You alright?" Lana asked.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, swallowing. He didn't expect Lori and Bobby to be broken up, but he'd hoped for it. The thought of his sister touching and kissing a dirty spic made him sick.

"Maybe Lincoln can come with," Lori said, almost as if she had read his mind, "I'm sure Ronnie Ann would be happy to see him. He just has to cover up that...thing on his arm."

"Oh," mom said, looking at him, "that would be nice. She missed you almost as much as we did."

"No, thanks," Lincoln said, scooping up a forkful of beans.

"Why not?" dad asked.

Because she's a dirty fucking Mexican, that's why. Instead, he said, "I'm just tired, is all. I'm used to being up at 5:30 and being in bed by 7:30. I'll see her tomorrow."

"I'm sure Clyde would like to see you too," mom said.

Lincoln tensed. Clyde. The so called "friend" who let him take all the blame, who let him paddle up the river for six months without so much as a second thought. The last thing Lincoln wanted to see now was Clyde's nappy-hair ass. No to mention his two homo dads.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "that'd be great."

After dinner, Lincoln helped clear the table, and watched as Lori left through the front door, his grip tightening so much that a glass shattered in his hand.

"You okay, Linc?" Luan asked from the kitchen. "I heard something break."

Lincoln bit his bottom lip and looked at his hand. Several shallow cuts crisscrossed his hand. That was fine. He could live with that. What he couldn't live with was knowing that his sister was probably on her way to suck some Mexican's dick.

"Linc?"

"I'm fine," Lincoln said. He went into the kitchen and threw the shards into the trash. "Just a little cut."

"Let me see."

Luan came over and took his hand in hers. She studied the wounds. "I'll get you a Band-Aid and some disinfectant."

"I'm fine, really. I'll get it myself."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Upstairs, Lincoln washed his hand in the bathroom sink, dabbed some Neosporin on the cuts, and slapped a Band-Aid on it. He closed the medicine cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked as angry as he felt. Of all the men in town, Lori had to pick a wetback. Why? Why couldn't she choose a nice, upstanding white man? It was disgusting.

On his way back to his room, Lucy poked her head into the hall. "Lincoln, can you listen to my new poem?"

"Not right now," Lincoln said, "I have a lot on my mind."

"Oh. Okay."

He didn't see the look of disappointment on her face.