It’s an old parenting dilemma: do you tell your innocent genetic sequels about all the scary and awful things in the world (there seem to be a lot right now) or let them enjoy a few years of ignorant bliss before they plow into the unending shit tornado of adulthood?
When the Access Hollywood tape came out last October and 13 women subsequently came forward with allegations of sexual assault against Donald Trump (remember them?), it was mind boggling and infuriating. How can the Republican party knowingly nominate a sexual predator for president? I was heartbroken when Trump then won the presidency—like stone-in-the-throat, can’t-breathe, can’t-sleep sad. I’d look at my girls apologetically, we had let them down. A year later, having that morally bankrupt man as our leader is somehow the new normal, but how do you explain that to your children?
Beyond briefly acknowledging that the angry orange lump on the TV was our new president, I had not talked to our older daughter in any detail about Trump since he was elected. For example, I had not told her that our president boasted about grabbing women by the genitals, praised Nazis or criticized American war heroes. Partly, because I knew her next question would be “Then why did people vote for him?”—a question I have still not made peace with. I maybe hoped that by the time she found out all that stuff for herself, Trump would be but a disgraced, impeached memory.
However, last week, at the sight of our Embarrasment in Chief tossing paper towels at Puerto Rican residents after they had survived the most devastating natural disaster in their history, my daughter looked up at the TV with what can only be described as disdain and said, “That’s not really helping, is it, Dad?”
No, no, it’s not.
The crowd actually had to explain to Trump that it was a bad idea when he then picked up cans of chicken to throw at the crowd. Most kindergarteners know that throwing tins of food at people is not cool. The president is literally dumber than someone who thinks that our kitchen floor is made of lava.
I decided that maybe it was time for the Trump Talk.
But how much detail should you get into? A friend of mine told me that she told her kid that the president “doesn’t really like people who are different from him.” Basically, he’s a bigot, which is true, but that’s definitely one step short of saying, “Look, Kaylee, here’s our president mocking disabled people!”
Here are some signs that maybe your kid is ready to learn about our leader:
- Your five-year-old is frustrated by the president’s gibberish. For example, when Trump said, “I know words. I have the best words—the best!” my daughter threw a Minion at the toilet in disgust.
- Your child is exasperated by the president’s lack of basic knowledge. When Trump recently explained to the American people, “[Puerto Rico is] an island surrounded by water. Big water. Ocean water!” she crammed string cheese into her ear, presumably to muffle the dumb noises coming from the television.
- Your child uses the president’s name as an insult. When my two-year-old recently threw a tantrum because she spilled her juice, my oldest exclaimed, “Don’t be such a Trump, Margot!”
- Hand size (sorry, this was too easy). If your child has larger hands than the leader of the free world, they have earned the right to learn about him. This normally happens around the age of six.
So I explained all about the president (well, nearly all, the pussy-grabbing stuff is going to have to wait), and it went pretty well. Kids do have a beautiful way of dealing with stuff. They innately understood that he is not a good man, nor a good president. If he was a My Little Pony, he’d be Nightmare Moon. One day, thank God, one of our kid’s generation will be president, and this embarrassing mess will be but a nasty stain in America’s history. Until then, good luck with The Talk.
Original artwork by Aaron A. Alvarez.
