An Amusing Story

Last year The Child met Senator Maria Cantwell after a John Kerry rally. Ever since then she has considered Senator Cantwell to be her friend. I told her this morning that I was going to be going to the Senator's campaign offices to work. Her face filled with delight and she exclaimed, "You have a job? That is so cool".

"It's not a job," I explained. "I'm volunteering on her re-election campaign. I'm not getting paid".

She began to eat her blueberry pancakes, undetered by such distinctions. "It's still cool that you have a job now," she said.

"I have a job, you know", I said. "I work all the time".

"Yes, but you'll be in a real office at a real desk. It's a real job."

Right. As opposed to all the skivving off I do the rest of the time. I can't blame her, of course. No matter what anyone says, we live in a culture that doesn't consider trifles like housework and child-rearing to be work. Without a paycheck, it doesn't count. Or, in the case of The Child, apparently, if it isn't in an office (like Papa), it isn't work.

A few minutes later she said, "So tell me what you'll be doing for Condi."

"What?!"

"For Condeleza Rice. What will you be doing?"

Now I was laughing hysterically. "Darling, I'm going to be volunteering. For Senator Cantwell. NOT for Condeleza Rice, the Secretary of State. The Secretary works for the President. The Senator doesn't. Condi is a short black woman. Maria is a short white woman".

"Well," she said, pulling on her shoes. "They're both short".

Kids.







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