Small Daughter was born Regan Christine Hand some 14 years passed. In that there is such a disparity of age between her and my oldest daughter, I took to referring to them as the First Daughter, and Small Daughter, noms de guerre that I cherish as being truly my own, and just between us three.
Imagine my shock when Small Daughter brought to my attention that my 11-year-old son, His Excellency and Future Pope, George Edward Hand V, was rooting for this voting year’s Democratic ticket. I won’t say her name, as I just ate and would like to retain my dinner… but suffice it to say that it rhymes with Pillory, or as in the case of my nickname for her: Schmidt-Head. My son; a democrat??
My son, my son… my only begotten dear son. I entered his room as he lay in bed reading just prior to the blessed hour of nighty-nite. I patted him gently on the head as I proceeded: “Georgie, I want you to know that this is absolutely nothing personal, rather it is strictly a business decision that has to be made… I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go as my son.” His eyes welled with tears. “Aw no… we’ll have none of that. Who wants a popsicle?!?
Understand that of course that none of that actually happened. In my earliest days of identity crisis, I became painfully aware of exactly who I was when Small Daughter and His Excellency were born. At that point in my mature life I knew beyond a shred of a shadow of doubt, that I was in fact ‘Dad.’ Yes, with every atom of my being I was Dad to children. No more me, no more I… just dad from now on, and I have no other purpose in life beyond raising these precious children.
It became immediately clear that Ms Regan is a hint of an enigma. In fact the Germans named a 2nd World War cryptology device after her… or so it was suggested to me at one time. But an anomaly she is, or so at least I fancy her one, as she racked up straight As and entered programs in school for gifted students of measured means.
At the ripe age of 55, and much to my chagrin, I found myself unable to assist her any longer with most of her homework. Ah, but that was until she took French in school… or so I mistakenly thought. Her French teacher rapidly became appalled with my Louisiana Cajun dialect, as I attempted just go ahead and do her homework for her.
Small Daughter was born Regan Christine Hand some 14 years passed. In that there is such a disparity of age between her and my oldest daughter, I took to referring to them as the First Daughter, and Small Daughter, noms de guerre that I cherish as being truly my own, and just between us three.
Imagine my shock when Small Daughter brought to my attention that my 11-year-old son, His Excellency and Future Pope, George Edward Hand V, was rooting for this voting year’s Democratic ticket. I won’t say her name, as I just ate and would like to retain my dinner… but suffice it to say that it rhymes with Pillory, or as in the case of my nickname for her: Schmidt-Head. My son; a democrat??
My son, my son… my only begotten dear son. I entered his room as he lay in bed reading just prior to the blessed hour of nighty-nite. I patted him gently on the head as I proceeded: “Georgie, I want you to know that this is absolutely nothing personal, rather it is strictly a business decision that has to be made… I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go as my son.” His eyes welled with tears. “Aw no… we’ll have none of that. Who wants a popsicle?!?
Understand that of course that none of that actually happened. In my earliest days of identity crisis, I became painfully aware of exactly who I was when Small Daughter and His Excellency were born. At that point in my mature life I knew beyond a shred of a shadow of doubt, that I was in fact ‘Dad.’ Yes, with every atom of my being I was Dad to children. No more me, no more I… just dad from now on, and I have no other purpose in life beyond raising these precious children.
It became immediately clear that Ms Regan is a hint of an enigma. In fact the Germans named a 2nd World War cryptology device after her… or so it was suggested to me at one time. But an anomaly she is, or so at least I fancy her one, as she racked up straight As and entered programs in school for gifted students of measured means.
At the ripe age of 55, and much to my chagrin, I found myself unable to assist her any longer with most of her homework. Ah, but that was until she took French in school… or so I mistakenly thought. Her French teacher rapidly became appalled with my Louisiana Cajun dialect, as I attempted just go ahead and do her homework for her.
But enough about me, damnit.
Earlier this year Small Daughter began mentioning through text messaging, her thoughts and her questions regarding politics, and the up-coming election. I took in most with a grain of salt, un gros grain du sel (why does her French teacher think that is wrong???), but then it came with a jolt me that she appeared to have substance to her thoughts, and to matter-of-factly demonstrate an introductory level understanding of politics.
“Dad, I listen to Schmidt-Head’s (holding tenaciously to my dinner) speeches, and it’s like they go nowhere; they come from nowhere and they go nowhere” so says ma plus jeune ‘tite fille. She preaches how “We (dems) are going to turn this nation around, and we are going to solve this country’s problems, and we are going to put an end to racism, poverty, and inequality…” all of which is beautiful intent… but at no time does she ever hint to just HOW ‘we’ is going to do any of it.”
Out of the mouths of babes, my brothers and sisters. Hon, that is called ‘blind rhetoric’.
So now I was hooked, and asked her to send me ramblings of all the thoughts and questions she has pertaining to politics, that I might harness them and produce an essay for the venerable SOFREP audience. This I did, and nothing more.
And Regan, dear Regan… if I don’t speak to her like an adult, I get nothing from her.
I am put in mind of her as a young daughter, just barely able to walk and talk on Christmas Eve. “Hey, better get to bed early tonight, or Santa Clause might not come if you are still awake!!!” She, rolling her eyes: “Santa Clause… really dad, REALLY?” Well shame on me; another one of life’s simple pleasures ruined by a precocious brat.
Well that really puts the grand kai-bash on my Easter Bunny plans, and here… I’ll just lay this stack of quarters on your dresser, in advance of your eventual missing teeth, as I imagine the Tooth Fairy hype won’t fly in this house. Aw come on; be a kid, sweetie!
For pity’s sake, we gave birth to an adult! We somehow sliced through all that childhood red tape like crap through a goose. Hell if you blinked, you missed it, her childhood that is.
“I’m sorry I missed your childhood somehow… how was I? Was I a good father, peanut?”
“Yeah sure… you were the bomb, dad.”
“That’s my baby girl!”
I am further put in mind of my daughter’s wit at the tender age of 10 years old:
(text msgs) “Dad, is it difficult to change out ink cartridges in the printer?”
“Certainly, Small Daughter; a monkey could to it.”
“Great, then will you go ahead and do it when you get home—eee-eee, ooo-ooo, aaa, aaa!”
These then are some thoughts, questions, and observations from Small Daughter pertaining to politics and political subjects:
Small Daughter stands by the Republican conviction that, while both Republican and Democratic parties favor reduced taxation, the more conservative approach to class taxation should be exercised; that is, she feels that equal tax should be levied across the span of economical classes.
Small Daughter caught me by surprise with her simple and broadly used analogy:
“Its like in school if half of us study hard and make As, and the other half goof off and
make Cs, but the teacher cuts our grades down from As to Bs, and pluses up the
others from Cs to Bs, so everyone makes the same grade, just because we don’t
want the underachievers to feel bad.” But, boo flippin’ hoo!
That was actually very impressive, its inherent simplicity not withstand. We refer to
those C-grade underachievers today by their Clinical Titles, ‘Democrat Butt-Hurt
Babies (DBHB).” You can witness DBHB in full throes of tantrums on any news portal as of late.
Small Daughter is currently in ROTC, and participates in frequent range fire and weapons safety classes; Small daughter supports our second amendment right to own firearms. Small daughter is not a gun nut; she is a sensible and law-abiding gun owner.
Small Daughter believes in conservative allocation of tax dollars to programs that foster the professional development of the American population; she believes in shoring up the endeavor to create brilliant minds in computer science; she does not believe in subsidizing student loans for DBHBs who are majoring in interpretive dance. Do you know who likes interpretive dance? Other interpretive dancers, the ones who tattoo little tear drops on the corner of their eyes.
Small Daughter (wait for it) believes in keeping more money right here at home for our own citizens vice sending it overseas in a nihilistic, narcissistic, and arrogant gestures to try and save the universe. OK, I helped her out with the wording, but it is her thought to the effect.
Ms Regan, the Small Daughter, believes that our country should not tolerate the entry of illegal aliens into our country, where we already suffer a crisis among our own citizens of scarce means, despite what that SOFREP epic turd Eric Jones says (inside remark for the entertainment of BK Actual).
This is a cut/paste straight from a Facebook IM from Small Daughter regarding abortion; Regan states:
“Also putting regulations on abortions was a big thing. Women shouldn’t have the
right to kill a child just cause they don’t really feel like having a kid. I think that u
should only be allowed an abortion if you were a victim of rape, or if you know that once the
child is born, it’s going to die, or some extreme situation like that.”
Small Daughter believes that Obamacare was “disastrous,” and that his administration spiked the national debt to such an astronomical degree, so as to be virtually unrecoverable in our lifetime. Yeah, ya think?
Finally, Small Daughter believes that all candy should be free of charge and disseminated immediately among the general population, well… because she is after all only 14.
There you have it; the world according to the 14-year-old offspring of a D-Boy. It’s a shame that her schooling took her away from an opportunity to hitch a ride on that GOP ticket next to my boy Donnie Trump. There’s always next time. Take a small child’s thoughts and hook them up to some big-people words, and they make some decent sense, n’est pas?
Oh, well I’ve got to go; Small Daughter just got home from school.
“Hey hon, how was school?”
“School was… pretty much just school… hey Bongo, did you replace this printer ink cartridges yet?”
“WTH… well you march right on upstairs to your room this instant, Small Daughter!”
We lock stares momentarily, then both burst out laughing, and she of course doesn’t go to her room.
geo sends
Proof that Small Daughter was indeed a baby once
Featured image courtesy of educationnews.org
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