I gathered the kids and we watched the ceremony this morning. No matter your political leanings, you have to admit that today was pretty historic.
The kids know about us choosing a new leader, we brought them when we voted.
Jessi actually opened the discussion when she asked if a girl could be president. I told her yes, a lady could be president, but that we hadn't had one yet. She asked "why not?" but was quickly distracted by the sight of the little girls and I told her that their daddy was the new leader.
She opened another window for discussion when she asked who the "pink" girl walking with the brown girls was and asked if they adopted her. "Pink" girl would be the
Caucasian lady who led the Obama girls out and down the steps. We aren't white, we are "pink". But again... I didn't explain that having a "brown guy" as our leader was very significant.
I intended to, I did.
I sat here with tears in my eyes as I watched the camera pan over the crowds and saw a few old black men with their Tuskegee Airman hats on.
I choked up when Aretha Franklin sang about freedom and justice.
I wanted to explain to the kids that this was a special, monumental, historical day.
But I couldn't.
Because to them, there is nothing out of the ordinary about a person of color, an African American, a black man, or in their own childish vernacular, a "brown guy", becoming the leader of our nation.
To them, he's just a man.
They don't have any clue that some people could hate someone else because he is brown instead of pink.
They don't know that relatively recently in our nation's history, brown people couldn't go to the same schools, ride the bus, or drink from our water fountains...let alone be elected as our president.
Someday they will be exposed to racial prejudice and I will have to explain it all, and then they will begin to understand the significance of today and I will remind them of what we watched.
But not today.
Today I'll let them think that it's so cool that little kids just like them have a daddy just like they do and they got to wear a pretty dress and go to the big party.
Today, their only interest was all the flags and music, the parade, the soldiers.
Today, I'm happy with the knowledge that if we were ever to be at the same park or playground or
library as Malia or Sasha, my kids would,
unsocialized homeschoolers that they are, approach them with the same confidence and openness as they do everyone else and pepper them with questions, "how old are you?", "when is your birthday?", "do you want to play?"
This is their normal, this is their reality, and for today, I'm just going to leave them there.