And no, I am not talking about the election. And not even the fact that it is President’s Day. I’m talking about the Presidential Madness that has enveloped my nine year old son. He lives and breathes presidents like most boys do baseball players, hockey stars or soccer icons. It was a horrible shock when I had to tell him, “Sorry, honey, no there are not Presidential Trading Cards.”
I mean really, who wants to end up with a collection of Millard Fillmores?
No, in our house it is all about the presidents. Presidential biographies. (Who knew rough and tumble Andrew Jackson had running water installed in the White House?) Presidential landmarks. (Any guesses who is buried in Grant’s Tomb? And that I am the worst mother in the world for not including this in our trip to NYC last fall.) Presidential exhibits, such as the current exhibit at the Museum of History and Industry here in Seattle. I had to promise in blood that I would take him during his Spring Break. No Disneyland for this kid–we are off to see Lincoln’s actual stovepipe hat. I believe that beats Thunder Mountain any day.
Nothing like being the go-to guy in the third grade on all matters presidential. Even his teachers defer to him. If I sound a little proud, believe me I am. I discovered my love of history by reading biographies when I was nine. Clara Barton, Florence Nightengale, Harriet Tubman, Nellie Bly. We should all have our heroes as we grow up. People who distinguished themselves and offer us a glimpse into what an ordinary person can do or become. Even Andrew Jackson. Because who doesn’t like their politics and politicians to be clean?
Who were your heroes growing up?