I often joke, when discussing the subject of raising kids, that I hope they don’t grow up to be a serial killer or a Republican. I figure it’s good to set the bar low, that way I won’t be disappointed. To my few Republican friends out there, I apologize if you take offense at this, although with the results of our recent presidential election, maybe I don’t have to apologize anymore.
I’ve been thinking long and hard about what the election of Donald J. Trump as our next president means for our world, our country and my family. I’ve been glued to my computer reading everything out there regarding the results of the election and spending way too much time on Facebook debating and discussing it with friends and some who have since been unfriended. To say it has been weighing heavily on my mind is an understatement. It has been all consuming and frankly, exhausting. I take some solace knowing I’m not alone.
I’ve already addressed why I felt Trump was unfit to be president before the election. But now as we’re facing four years of a Trump presidency, I need to think about what this means for raising our two boys, Oskar, 6, and William, 1. I’ve read many articles about how to talk to your kids about a Trump administration, many of them testimonials of heartbroken mothers who put their kids to bed Tuesday night with the exciting prospect of waking up to the first female president, only to have to tell them the cold, hard truth Wednesday morning, that the bulliest of bullies was the winner. Oskar, who has the attention span of a hungry grizzly bear during salmon spawning season, was disappointed when he heard the news in the morning, but quickly moved onto other things. Now while I’m listening to the news on the radio and Trump comes up — which unfortunately is pretty much constantly — he’ll shout out, “Boo Trump,” then find some Legos to play with. I wish I could do the same.
I struggle with the fact that someone so entirely undeserving and unworthy of the highest office of the land has won. For some time now, we’ve been living in an age where everybody gets a medal just for showing up and participating, so maybe it shouldn’t be so hard to explain the outcome of this election to a child. Of course, it’d be one thing if Trump just showed up and had been a typical candidate. But we all know that was not the case. He was the bully, the candidate spouting hateful rhetoric toward countless groups of Americans. Really, the one area he wasn’t discriminatory about is who he insulted and attacked. He’s been an equal opportunity asshole to say the least and now he will be our Commander-in-Chief Asshole.
For as long as I can remember, children have extolled the office of the Presidency of the United States to the highest level. Just how many kids have uttered the sentence, “some day when I grow-up, I want to be President,” we will never know. In fact, Oskar recently told me that when he’s president he will make sure more trees are planted because they help people breath. As adults, most of us come to our senses and realize that no one in their right mind would want the awesome responsibility of running this great country of ours. Of course, many would argue that President-elect Trump is not in his right mind, yet he faces the enormous task of leading an incredibly divided country — one that he himself helped divide — into a very uncertain future. Sadly, knowing the most honored leadership position in our country will now be filled by a racist, misogynistic, hate-filled, con-man demagogue bigot is unsettling at best and downright terrifying at worst. Apparently the old saying “anyone can become president” is indeed true. With enough money and a platform feeding off hate and fear — combined with an uneducated, resentful or altogether disengaged electorate — even an orange, unqualified reality t.v. star with troll doll hair can become president. Someone as terrible as Donald J. Trump occupying such an important and revered position is difficult to explain to an adult, let alone a child. How do you explain something you don’t understand yourself? When Oskar tells me he’d like to be president one day, I may need to encourage him to take a closer look at Iron Man . . . or maybe dentistry.
We often drive past St. Joseph’s Home for Children in Minneapolis and I’ve explained to Oskar that not all children have parents or somebody to care of them. A few days ago, without prompting, he told me how sad he felt about orphans. It was so out of the blue and not in line with his typical conversation points, which generally consist of the question, “when is the next time I can watch TV?” I was so excited at his display of empathy and suggested that we find something nice to do for the orphans this holiday season. The past few years of parenting have been a constant struggle to instill in my son the importance of sharing and being kind to others, not to mention keeping his hands to himself and not licking people. Before the election, I found myself telling him to quit behaving like a Trump when he was being an asshole. And now . . . well, sadly I can no longer look to the president as a role model for my children. Will I continue telling him to stop acting like a Trump? If I have no respect for the man who is our president, must I retain respect for the office itself? Do I tell him to quit behaving like a President Trump? I wish I had some answers, but it all just makes my head and my heart hurt.
A few days ago, a close friend of mine posted the poem “Good Bones” by poet Maggie Smith on Facebook. I had read it before, but now, following this election, it felt profoundly poignant and difficult to read without shedding a tear.
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
Long story short — don’t let your child be a Trump.
