The Election

Before you panic, I'm not pulling out the soapbox. Voting, for me, is a private matter. You won't find yard signs at our house, or bumper stickers on our cars. In fact, I'm one of those registered undecideds that drives pollsters (and campaign managers) bonkers. Give me issues in black and white, I'll sort out the details, and then decide. Analytical, yes. Do I always vote for a winner? No. But, I do vote.

That said, just as I was tucking my 8-year old into bed the other night, she shared the most interesting thought. I'm not sure where she heard it (not around our house, for certain), but it really caught me off guard. "Mommy," she said, wrinkling her brow. "I want Obama to win, but I'm afraid someone will kill him because he's black. You know, like Martin Luther King, Jr." I wasn't quite sure what to say.

Should I start a discussion on presidential security and the secret service? Should I assure her that that wouldn't happen, then cross my fingers that I'm right? Her world is so much more vivid and raw than mine was at that age. As a child, I knew Carter was a peanut farmer, Reagan dyed his hair, and Ford fell down a lot. I was shielded from any real unpleasantness. Despite my best efforts to keep the bad stuff to a minimum, my kids can't escape the vivid pictures of 9-11, the horrors of the war in Iraq, or reports of grisly murders. Bad stuff is instantaneous and ubiquitous.

So, I went with my gut. I hugged her tight, kissed her baby soft cheek, made sure her stuffies were all in place, and assured her that whomever won the election, it would be OK, because we live in a great country and good things happen all of the time. Then, I said a quick prayer that I was going to be right.