Merry was having an anxious evening yesterday. After dinner, when I called her in to wash the pots, I noticed her face was uncharacteristically veiled and her smile stiff.
"What's the matter?" I asked, coaxing, coaxing, as moms do.
"Nothing," she said. After a while she added, "I just have these same thoughts that keep coming up in my head and I can't get rid of them and I feel weird."
"I know what you mean," I said, rinsing a pot and setting in the dish drainer. "Thoughts like what?" I prodded her--coaxing, coaxing, like moms do, wanting her to break her tension by disclosing the anxious thoughts that were driving her to distraction, like a splinter up her nail, wanting her to pull it out so I could see her eyes come alive again. Coaxing, coaxing.
Finally she burst out: "I don't know what to worry about more: the big earthquake that's due to hit us, or Donald Trump becoming president!"
This is not what I expected to come out of her mouth.
There was a wee earthquake close by on Saturday and she was lying in bed that morning when it made her bed wobble. She said she thought, THIS IS IT! IT'S THE BIG ONE! and jumped out of bed, ready for the world to heave. She described her dread at Donald Trump much the same way last night: "I just don't know what we'll do," she said. "Really. I think about it all the time." Later that night, she looked up from her homework and said, "If it happens, I'm going to get a bunch of people together so we can start impeachment."
"We could move to Canada," I suggested. "A place up by Nova Scotia said we could naturalize if Trump takes the presidency."
"I don't want to move to Canada," she said, taking me more seriously than I intended.
"I agree. It's much too cold up there."
I put her mind to rest by telling her more often than not, good happens--to which she replied doubtfully until I gave her evidence from her own life. And then before she went to sleep, I took her a cup of Sleepytime. "Daddy says it's only a 10% chance that the big earthquake will happen in the next 50 years," I said to soothe her. "I bet it's about the same chances that Trump will become president. Nothing to worry about."
She looked at me, doubt making her eyes flash. "I don't know about that," she said, but she drank her tea all the same and says this morning she says she slept well.
Since when did my little girl's worries turn so fixedly to politics? She's waiting for her Bernie Sanders sticker so she can plaster her folder with it. Lest any of you believe that we are indoctrinating our young, let me reassure you that Merry has her own mind. There's a reason she has been our family's only staunch vegetarian for three years. She does her own research, gathers her own conclusions, equips herself for her own battles.
Other girls worry about zits and boyfriends. For Merry, it's Trump and the big earthquake.
"What's the matter?" I asked, coaxing, coaxing, as moms do.
"Nothing," she said. After a while she added, "I just have these same thoughts that keep coming up in my head and I can't get rid of them and I feel weird."
"I know what you mean," I said, rinsing a pot and setting in the dish drainer. "Thoughts like what?" I prodded her--coaxing, coaxing, like moms do, wanting her to break her tension by disclosing the anxious thoughts that were driving her to distraction, like a splinter up her nail, wanting her to pull it out so I could see her eyes come alive again. Coaxing, coaxing.
Finally she burst out: "I don't know what to worry about more: the big earthquake that's due to hit us, or Donald Trump becoming president!"
This is not what I expected to come out of her mouth.
There was a wee earthquake close by on Saturday and she was lying in bed that morning when it made her bed wobble. She said she thought, THIS IS IT! IT'S THE BIG ONE! and jumped out of bed, ready for the world to heave. She described her dread at Donald Trump much the same way last night: "I just don't know what we'll do," she said. "Really. I think about it all the time." Later that night, she looked up from her homework and said, "If it happens, I'm going to get a bunch of people together so we can start impeachment."
"We could move to Canada," I suggested. "A place up by Nova Scotia said we could naturalize if Trump takes the presidency."
"I don't want to move to Canada," she said, taking me more seriously than I intended.
"I agree. It's much too cold up there."
I put her mind to rest by telling her more often than not, good happens--to which she replied doubtfully until I gave her evidence from her own life. And then before she went to sleep, I took her a cup of Sleepytime. "Daddy says it's only a 10% chance that the big earthquake will happen in the next 50 years," I said to soothe her. "I bet it's about the same chances that Trump will become president. Nothing to worry about."
She looked at me, doubt making her eyes flash. "I don't know about that," she said, but she drank her tea all the same and says this morning she says she slept well.
Since when did my little girl's worries turn so fixedly to politics? She's waiting for her Bernie Sanders sticker so she can plaster her folder with it. Lest any of you believe that we are indoctrinating our young, let me reassure you that Merry has her own mind. There's a reason she has been our family's only staunch vegetarian for three years. She does her own research, gathers her own conclusions, equips herself for her own battles.
Other girls worry about zits and boyfriends. For Merry, it's Trump and the big earthquake.
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