In a stunning fit of brilliance, or possibly sheer stupidity, I once again signed up for NaBloPoMo, or some such acronym. I’m not so smart as to remember which is which. Well, okay, so I’m just not that smart.
So, who is with me? Who has promised to post every mother-humping day for the entire month of November?
Since I would feel lame doing my inaugural post about posting every month (is it just me or does that seem a bit…lacking?), I will give you a recent Ben story.
Before we transferred Ben away from the Hippie Nut Ban! school, he attended summer camp there. The phrase “summer camp” implies that it was more than just school during the summer, but it sounds fancier, doesn’t it? Well, either way, the teachers saw fit to discuss the election and the candidates with a group of children.
And while you know, someone believes children are our future, I’m still not quite certain what possessed them to do this. I mean, I do discuss such important issues as “what Dora REALLY puts in that backpack” and “which is better, a survey of milk versus yogurt.” But kids are young and impressionable enough (especially my own) to make whatever you say is right complete dogma. If I say “Dunkin’ Donuts coffee is the best on the planet,” HE’LL BELIEVE ME.
The power is mighty and fierce and must be wielded appropriately.
I had no real idea that they done this until a couple of weeks ago when we were casually driving along in the car and Ben pipes up from his car seat with “I want BarackObama to win.” His name, all one word, just like that.
Unsure as to what I’d heard him say, since we rarely discuss politics especially in front of someone who is, oh, I don’t know 7 years old (and autistic. And lacks a proper idea of most of the political issues. Or a working knowledge of the government), and extra-specially since I knew who I’d be voting for BEFORE all the campaigning began in earnest, I tentatively asked for some clarification. It was then when we learned that he’d been exposed to Election Fever at his Hippie Nut Ban! school.
Pleased that we’d all be campaigning for the same side, we left things as they were and occasionally Ben would see something about his beloved BarackObama and pipe up “HOORAY BARACKOBAMA! YOU’RE GREAT!” And conversely, “Boo! John McCain!” (I assure you that I do not shriek at the television unless Deal or No Deal or Engaged and Underage is on. Oh, come on. Just because you don’t admit it doesn’t mean that you don’t watch it. How can you not?)
Nickelodeon announced that the BarackObama was the Kid’s Pick The President Winner, and Ben mistakenly believed that the election was over. He rushed into the other room where I was hiding from Dora and Diego to tell me shriek at me of the news and for the briefest of brief moments, I incorrectly believed that the election was, in fact over.
Pipe dreams and all. But his victory dance/ass-shaking was hysterical and made the hard return to reality a little easier on the equilibrium.
So Friday, when the kids were out trick-or-treating in earnest, Ben met up with our next door neighbor who happen to have a John McCain proudly displayed on their lawn. I’ve never said boo about the sign to anyone, I’ve never commented on the sign in any way shape or form, in front of Ben or not. Neither, I’m positive, has Daver.
Ben came home a couple hours after he departed and inter-spliced with his rambles about candy, his class party and Storm-troopers, and which of our animals had a stinkier butt he made mention of our next door neighbor’s son. You see, HIS mother had been smart enough to sit outside on the porch stoop and pass out candy while I lounged about with my foot on ice on my nice comfy couch. Wait, perhaps *I* am the clever one after all.
And then he dropped the bombshell, “Can I still be friends with [next door neighbor’s son] if he votes for McCain?” I explained that not only was [next door neighbor’s son] a mere 3 years old and thereby incapable of voting, but that it did not matter one way or another how someone else voted.
Apparently he missed the memo (as did a whole fuck-ton of people) that the way someone votes does NOT dictate whom we can or cannot be friends with.
It was then that I knew in my bones that he must have said something in front of my next door neighbor about the sign, and I began to feel like Those People. The people who cannot be friends or neighbors with someone who votes the “wrong” way and insists that their children behave the same way.
I guess we didn’t get him out of that hippie Nut Ban! school soon enough.