Campaign fatigue comes between a mother and her idealistic tween.
Wed Sep 24 2008
The pro-Obama posters plastered throughout our Lower East Side nabe don’t sway her. Neither a Republican nor a Democrat be, the Chicklet proclaims; political parties are too cliquish for her taste. She’s an issues girl who examines a candidate’s record—and then his or her justifications for that record.
On our summer vacation in Europe and the Middle East, the Chicklet eagerly consumed political headlines in the foreign papers. Still in mourning, I glanced over only to see if Paris Hilton had made a new faux commercial mocking the candidates. When John Edwards came clean about his affair, my daughter was saddened by the loss of a good man from the political stage. I could barely muster interest in whether the mistress was hot. Bristol Palin’s pregnancy gave the Chicklet pause, but then she concluded that it shouldn’t be a deal breaker for voters. “It’s probably easier to run the country than to run a family,” she said while watching the evening news. My moment of pride in my daughter’s sagacity was cut short when I realized she was basing half her theory on my performance.
I still don’t know who will get my vote. I’m awaiting one of three things: a major gaffe by a candidate, the emergence of a juicy piece of his or her past, or a really good line I can hold on to. Something like “The only thing we have to fear…,” or “…a car in every garage.”
My daughter wants me to vote her way, since she won’t be eligible to participate in a presidential election until 2016. She insists I shouldn’t turn the black lever based on my “whatever” attitude. I say, Why not? After all, she’s turning out fine despite my W-like parental blunders. Thankfully, she’s too young to impeach me.
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