I chose not to watch election night on TV. Instead, I Googled updates by periodically refreshing my browser. During the early morning hours it was clear that — barring a miracle — Hillary was going to be defeated. I decided to go to bed, but couldn't fall asleep. Just as I was attempting to calm down, I heard my phone silently buzz and three consecutive gun shots outside. So I decided to check my phone, and sure enough my worst nightmare came true: Trump had won the election. Obviously, someone was celebrating outside, but knowing Trump's stand on guns the shots that rang out, to me, were laced with terror.

After a restless sleep, I was awoken not to my phone alarm but an out of state phone call from my son calling. I could barely understand what he was saying. He wasn't crying. He was weeping loudly.

And here's the thing ... we're white. White people who are privileged. What a disgusting legacy. But this is the very thing that is a direct reflection of Trump's voter turnout.

My son's cry didn't represent privilege. It represented how he felt — that all the high moral values he holds near and dear to his heart about the human race and the environment were suddenly going down the toilet.

There are many white people who absolutely hate that they've been lumped into this privileged category, our family being one of them. After many tears, sleepless nights, feeling sick to the stomach, I've made the decision to use my so called "white privilege" and turn it around for good. Urging other whites to do the same, I believe we have an opportunity to stand up to hate crimes and groups.