“You have the right to remain silent night, holy night. Drop the gun, punk.”

Christmas Kopovich was only eight years old when he watched his parents board the alien mothership. It was 1946, one year after World War II. America was relevant and vital. No one. Not those Nazis. Not those Japanese prisoners of war. Not those Italian rabble-rousers. Not those Irish hooligans. Not those Egyptian twerps. They were not going to steal this moment of glory and pride. It was a golden era. America had diverse dreams, and those dreams were happy bubbles, and every loyal American had them in spades.

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