This story is an accompaniment to a podcast series released by NPR's Embedded called Alternate Realities. You can listen to all three episodes here or wherever you listen to podcasts.
About a year ago, my dad bet me $10,000 that he could foretell the future.
It all started when he texted me a picture of a list. Writing in barely legible cursive, he had scribbled 10 politically apocalyptic predictions. My dad was foreshadowing verdicts of treason for Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Joe Biden and the Clintons, who would go down for murder as well. Biden would ultimately be removed from office, and so would the governor of New York and the mayor of New York City. It went on. Donald Trump, who was seeking reelection, would have all charges leveled against him at the time dropped, all while being reinstated as president without the need for November's election. He also thought that the U.S. would come under nationwide martial law.
For all his catastrophizing, I wouldn't describe my father as a paranoid person — I tend to think of him as an optimist. He's very friendly, the kind of father who cracks a lot of dad jokes with strangers. But like so many Americans, Dad had gotten swept up in conspiracy theories. Chemtrails, Biden body doubles, the idea that a shadowy cabal he calls "the globalists" is secretly running the world — these are just a few secret plots my father believes in.
The list, however, was something new. My father was now predicting the biggest shake-up in the country's history, and he was absolutely certain that it would happen within a year.
At the bottom of the page was a challenge: $1,000 for each of the 10 predictions that were supposed to happen sometime in 2024. My father is not a betting man; nor is he rich. This was easily more money than either of us had ever wagered. Shortly after seeing the list, I called him to discuss the terms.
"When all these things happen," he told me, "you will realize I'm not as big a crackpot as you think I am. These are not conspiracy theories — these are reality."
The bet seemed over-the-top, but I was intrigued by the opportunity it presented. My dad and I have never been particularly close. Unless we are discussing our favorite college football team, the Ohio State Buckeyes, we disagree on just about everything. Our family dinners had been dissolving into heated arguments for some time. Instead of quarreling until the end of time, we were actually going to settle the single biggest source of tension between us: our diametrically opposed senses of reality. Either he was right or I was. Jan. 1, 2025, would be our deadline.
I accepted.
A year seemed like the right amount of time to bring him back from the rabbit hole, before his beliefs tore our family apart.
A house divided
When I was growing up in the Bay Area, Dad was often the lone Christian conservative, not just within our family but in our broader social circle as well. My mother is a fairly liberal Jewish woman; my sister, Kira, and I tend to be on the same page as she. For years, my dad's views were easy to overlook. He usually kept pretty quiet, but I always knew that he was skeptical of vaccines and that he hated the Clintons.
Dad grew up in a deeply Christian household, but at some point in his younger years he rebelled. And when my parents met in the 1980s, neither of them was interested in religion. Sometime after I was born, that began to change. As the years passed, his faith deepened.
Back in 2019, my dad, who has never been particularly tech savvy, got an iPad. Kira and I had left home by then. I had gone on to work in media in New York City, and whenever I went back home to visit, I could see that Dad was becoming increasingly interested in self-proclaimed Christian prophets. I've seen some of the videos he watches on a regular basis. They're full of dark premonitions that echo the predictions in our bet.
Once the COVID-19 pandemic hit, he started bristling at mask-wearing, and he refused to get vaccinated. Eventually, he came to believe the 2020 presidential election was stolen from Trump, whom he didn't even vote for in 2016.
Two years ago, my sister came out to our dad. My mom and I had known for years, but Kira was always afraid to tell him, because she thought he'd disapprove. It didn't go well. He said he'd always love her, that she'd forever be welcomed in the house, but he thought that being gay was a choice, one he doesn't agree with.
"He told me that I was wrong about myself," Kira said when I called her to talk about the state of our family. "And I don't understand how he could know that."
These past two years have not been easy for the family, especially for Kira. It's unclear how we can move forward when my sister doesn't feel supported. And then there's all the conspiracy stuff, which has been increasingly hard on my mom.
"I have been very clear that I'm not sure how much more I can take," she told me last year, when she and I started having candid conversations about life with Dad. She's 69, on the cusp of retiring, and my dad's behavior was pushing her to reconsider their 40-year marriage. "This is not the life I had planned for myself."
Over the summer, Dad began stockpiling survivalist supplies. Their house suddenly filled up with multiple generators, flats of water and cans of food they'd never eaten before. He even moved some money from their joint account to buy precious metal without telling her.
When Dad initially proposed the bet, Mom was a little irritated that she wasn't consulted first. After all, the money I'd win for each prediction that proved wrong would come from their shared finances. But now she was warming up to the idea of having a deadline.
"I want a date. And then when that date happens, the precious metals get returned to cash, the flats of water go back to Costco. You do something else with the two generators. And you move on."
This experiment was starting to feel like more than just a friendly wager. I was starting to worry that by accepting it, I had put the entire family on a collision course.
Independent research
After receiving my dad's list with 10 predictions, I began thinking about an argument he and I had several years ago. It must have been about politics. I was visiting my parents, and we'd gone out to eat at one of our favorite restaurants. Even though I can't recall the specifics, I've never forgotten how it ended.
"You don't really know me," my father told me, getting the last word. I'm 38, and my father has been part of my life since I was born. Despite this shared history, I remember thinking that maybe he was right. Now, as our yearlong bet was playing out, I realized I had a lot to learn about the person I was trying to change.
I started with his friends. In my efforts to learn more about my father, I reached out to people he had known for decades. They mostly wondered where Dad was getting his information. Even friends who share in some of Dad's conspiracies thought he was going too far. "He's watching too many of The X-Files," one of them told me.
Dad's friends clearly thought he was going the wrong way. He seemed to be on his own with his beliefs. I had seen this sort of thing play out before in the family — I was struck by the parallels with the story of his own father.
My grandfather was a chiropractor. Like Dad, he was also opposed to vaccines. He believed in what he called the body's natural immunities — so much so that my father was held out of school in the 1960s due to a new vaccine mandate at the time.
"He was stubborn, very opinionated, hardheaded at times," my dad said when I asked him to describe what my granddad was like. "He was very embittered against the medical society, because they literally ran him out of business."
Back in 1969, the Ohio State Medical Board filed charges against my grandfather for practicing without a license. He even spent a couple of days in jail. My dad says he was never able to fully recover after his business dissolved.
My first memories of my granddad are of a tall, thin man. One day, when he came to visit us, his body had completely changed. He had gained over a hundred pounds in a short amount of time and was going through mental health issues that the family never fully understood. It's hard to know, because he wouldn't see a doctor, but he started falling asleep at odd times. He'd be in the middle of a conversation or at dinner, and he'd start snoring. Minutes later, he'd wake up and carry on.
This also happened while he was driving. My granddad got into a number of car accidents; he totaled several cars and nearly killed my grandmother, but he refused to admit that anything was wrong.
My father tried to talk to him several times. When that didn't work, he tried something else.
"I wrote him a long letter. And I said, 'Dad, I love you. I'm not trying to say anything damaging about you, but your whole family is concerned. Can't you recognize that we would all like to see you live to a ripe old age?'"
When I was 10 years old, my parents called my sister and me into the kitchen. Their grave faces told me all I needed to know. My grandfather was dead. Earlier that day, his vehicle had veered off the road and crashed. Our best guess is that he fell asleep behind the wheel.
When I think about my grandfather, I think about the way his death may have been caused by stubbornness, a refusal to listen to those around him. I was starting to see a direct correlation with Dad's stubbornness, his deep distrust in institutions and the attitude that no matter what, he knows best.
As we reached the fall, I reached out to experts. I had to know why he seemed willing to give up so much, including his own family, for his beliefs. So I called up researchers who study conspiracy theories and the people who believe them, and I documented my journey in a series I did for NPR's Embedded.
One piece of advice I kept getting was to try to see things from his perspective. Among our family and friends in the Bay Area, my dad has always been an outsider. We'd been rejecting his beliefs for years, but as time went on, they'd become more extreme. I was starting to realize that, from his vantage point, we were the intolerant ones, the ones who don't understand.
When I asked my dad whether he feels like the odd man out, he answered somberly, "It's painful at times. It's very sad for me."
So what happens when your family and your friends don't respect your beliefs? Perhaps you reach for a higher purpose — something existential.
This came up in a conversation with Charlie Safford, a researcher who designs therapeutic techniques for people who believe in far-right conspiracy theories. He believes that conspiracy theories are fundamentally emotional coping mechanisms.
"Even if your father doesn't put the pieces together, there is some awakening of his own mortality that might be contributing to all of this," he told me. "One of the ways that you come to terms is to look back and say, 'Did my life have meaning?'"
Safford asked me how old my grandfather was when he died. I wasn't sure, so I asked my father. He told me that he was 68, the same age my father was when he challenged me to the bet.
I had never considered this angle before, but Dad has.
"Yep, I've thought about that a million times. Now I'm the age he was when he died."
I sat back down with my father after digging deep into our family history. Winter was approaching, and the bet wouldn't come due for another two months, but I had to know what he thought about his own views. Was he aware of how radical they'd gotten?
"It's not that they've gotten more extreme," he told me. "I've become more in tune with who I really am."
I reminded him of that argument we had in the restaurant years ago, when he insisted I hardly knew him. I asked him whether he felt like I knew him a little better.
"Oh, absolutely," he replied. "These conversations, talking about my dad and all the rest. … Yeah, you know me."
I felt the same way. Our Jan. 1 deadline was fast approaching. Now that we were closer, I allowed myself to hope for the best. Maybe I would be able to change his mind after all.
Time to settle up
When the day finally arrived, Dad and I sat down across from each other, at the same table where we shared countless family dinners growing up. He pulled out his handwritten list; I had my laptop open to a document full of questions and fact checks.
I ran through all 10 items on the list, ready to push back against any hint that his predictions had somehow come true. There was no need for it. Dad kept saying that, yes, he had hoped that they would take place before the end of 2024, but he knew that none had come to pass.
"I'm very happy that it didn't happen," he told me as we reached the final prediction, the one about martial law being imposed all over the country. "In terms of convincing you, I struck out big time."
I wish I could say that Dad changed his mind and the family was finally able to heal. For a brief instant, that seemed to be the ending that was playing out between us.
It didn't last.
"However," Dad pushed on, "I guarantee that all 10 of these have legs. You will see by the end of 2025."
The bet was over, but we still needed to assess the damage. Because at that point, our family had already hit an all-time low.
Days before, as I was getting ready to fly home for the holidays, I arranged a call with my mom and sister. I wanted to see whether they had any requests for my father, like seeing a therapist or attending a church with more inclusive views on sexuality. Given our newfound closeness, I had the feeling that Dad would be open to hearing me out.
Minutes before our call, my sister sent a text.
"I feel the conversation and the interview would cause me more harm and pain at this point," she wrote. "Please continue today without me."
Kira was out. She wasn't interested in teaching Dad how to accept her without conditions.
Turns out, my mom had reached the same conclusion. She called me later that same day to let me know about her decision.
"I don't see a path where this marriage can continue. I don't see a path for me," she said.
At that point, their 40-year marriage was hanging by a thread. Back in November, my father echoed false claims about Jan. 6 rioters being paid actors. My mom asked him to move out of their room on the day after Trump's victory in the presidential election. They were now agreeing to take the next step. Their marriage was officially ending.
By the time I sat down to settle the bet, it was down to just Dad and me. I knew it was finally time to press him. "I just see an unwillingness for you to be wrong," I told him.
"I'm going to admit I was wrong about the timeline on all 10 things," he assured me.
"See how you prefaced it?" I said. "You're just saying that you're wrong about the timeline."
"Why am I going to abandon the truth?" he insisted. "I can't abandon the truth."
As I watched him double down, I kept thinking of all the unvetted information he'd continue to take in, the survivalist gear and precious metals he'd buy, the people he'd surround himself with in the absence of our family.
As the conversation wound down, I finally let go of any notion that I could convince him of anything he didn't already believe.
I don't know what comes next. Things fell apart so quickly, but also slowly; as the years passed, cracks started opening up, eventually turning into a chasm. In the end, we didn't make it.
When I asked my dad where he thought we would be as a family when the next Christmas rolled around, the confidence in his ability to predict the future came crashing down.
"I have no idea," he told me, releasing a heavy sigh. "I can't even think that far ahead."
In many ways, I'm the one who got off the easiest. I'm still in good standing with everyone, which makes me feel a mixture of relief and guilt, maybe a splash of gratitude.
And for those of you wondering, yes, I took the money. Absolutely.
But on New Year's Day, when my dad officially lost the bet, I took him to the Rose Bowl, to see our beloved Ohio State football team in the national championship game. After the year we just had, it felt good to treat Dad with his own money. The Buckeyes won, and as we cheered their victory, I felt a deep sense of connection. The day was a reminder of how good things could be between us and, at the same time, of everything we couldn't be anymore. As I watched the clock run down, I knew the game would be over soon, and so would be that brief moment in which we got to share the same reality.
Episode 1 of this series can be found at the top of this page. You can listen to Episode 2 and Episode 3 of the series on NPR's Embedded podcast or wherever you listen to podcasts.
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