A Girl in the Whitehouse

When I was growing up, there were three subjects my mother always told me should never be discussed.

Politics.

Religion.

And whether or not a woman colors or perms her hair.

On some level, I still believe she’s right. I know, for instance, that there are plenty of perfectly nice, agreeable folk in this world… until they get to talking how they “really” feel about the president, or the governor, or the poor souls who do their best to run the town.

And religion?

“As a general rule, I would say that human beings never behave more badly toward one another than when they believe they are protecting God.”

~Barbara Brown Taylor, Leaving Church

As I grew older, of course, I realized that there were many families who were less inhibited on these topics. For many of my friends, government policy was dinnertime conversation with the family. And there was no need to pretend somebody’s hair was naturally that shade of purple/black or vibrant red. They’d probably gone to all that work expecting to be noticed. A comment or two wasn’t going to offend anyone.

I think part of what initially attracted me to my “bad-boy” of a husband was that he never hesitated to discuss these taboo topics. He’d ask a woman, straight up, “What did you do to your hair?”

What I really enjoy is the way he can often get people talking about these subjects so freely that you really can begin to see and understand their point of view, even when you don’t quite agree with it. He has a skill – though it doesn’t always take with every person – of conversing without judgment.

And now I have kids who are willing to talk about these things, as well. Lately I’ve been listening to my 7-year-old and my 9-year-old discuss politics. One is for Hillary; the other is rooting for “The Rock” Obama. (My way sounds way cooler – he explained to me when I showed him the spelling and provided pronunciation guidance.)

One of them asked their dad the other day if we were Democrats or Republicans. “Well I can’t tell you what ‘we’ are,” hubby answered, “Because you all may end up something different than me.” And they had a wonderfully pleasant conversation about what it means to be one or another anyway (or if it means anything), and the whole election process was covered, and I had plenty of time to just absorb and reflect on the confidence my children have with these subjects that still have a tendency to make me squirm outside of conversations with my immediate family.

One thing that strikes me this round is that my objectivity feels clouded. All politics aside, I believe there resides a nine-year-old girl in me who would really like to see Hillary Clinton become President of the United States of America. My own career goals at the age of nine were quite lofty. Somewhere I have a paper where I wrote about becoming the first female President of the United States… and a pig farmer. I guess I figured if Jimmy Carter could go from peanuts to president, pigs might be a good way for me to start.

Thirty years later, and the idea of a girl in the white house still gets to me. Listening to my nine-year-old ponder… so many men, why not a woman? And personally, again, simply pondering that whoever prevails on the Democratic ticket… barriers may actually be broken… that’s exciting.

It’s true, we’ve come a long, long way. As people. As a society. For blacks. For women. We’re not there yet, but times do change. That’s good to know. It gives me hope.

My friend, Sydney, with Hillary Clinton.