Alright, my little turnip. Listen up. You may wonder why I am now calling you my little turnip after calling you my little pumpkin for so long. Well it is because you recently proclaimed that you were "embarrassed" when I called you a pumpkin and requested that I not call you that anymore. So we are on to a different member of the squash family. You will not like it, that I know. But guess what: I am the Mommy and get to pick the nicknames! Deal.
This week was an historic one. But you knew that; you were as well-versed about this election as certain people of legal voting age. You knew that Sarah Palin was from Alaska and running for Vice - President. You knew that you have to be eighteen to vote. You knew that John McCain was "old … at least a hundred" (your words, not mine). You knew that Barack Obama was the first African-American ever to run for President. You knew that you enjoyed my response when you announced that you planned on "voting for McCain" … every eight seconds … since mid-October.
I told you that was OK! I was voting for Barack Obama and was proud to do so. But explained that when you were old enough to vote, you could vote for whomever you wanted. Even Ralph Nader! That is what is great about where we live. And if you want to join the Young Republic Club in high school, we will go together to pick out your boat shoes and crested ties. It is YOUR CHOICE and every person gets to make their own choice about their values, their beliefs, and their candidate. Democracy! Yay!
I took you with me to the voting booth to watch the process in action (also, because your dad was at work late and it is illegal to leave you alone in a parked car). You expressed disappointment that neither McCain nor Palin were there to greet us personally. You said you would have settled for an Obama sighting. You wondered what else they could be doing? Wasn't it Election Day? You perked up when the literature people outside the voting venue offered you a donut and a cup of juice. That was almost as good as shaking the hand of a real-live soon-to-be-President. You liked the sticker too. I let you wear mine.
You did not see me when the official announcement was made, later that night, that Obama was our next President. I cried – this would have shocked you. I do not cry at much - amend that, I do not cry at much in front of other people, especially you. It freaks you out. Tears over something like an election were uncharacteristic. But this election felt different, bigger, more important, and more personal … to millions who cast their ballots … and to me. I was moved to be a part of it and to watch history unfold.
I did not wake you up to see the election results but DVR'er the press coverage to watch with you the next day. Together we watched Obama's acceptance speech. I explained to you what an historic moment this was. How proud I was to be an American. How you should be proud to be an American too. How the right to vote is not something every person in every country has and we should be thankful. How the President-Elect had worked hard during his life and achieved something incredible. How I was going to try to talk Daddy into getting tickets to one of the D.C. Inaugural Balls so I could stimulate the economy and buy a new dress … maybe some shoes. I asked you what you thought of all of it.
Your excellent, insightful response showed me that the gravity of this moment in time had not gone over your head:
Does this mean we can have cupcakes for dinner to celebrate? With sprinkles!?
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