My eight year-old daughter, Clara, is no fan of Donald Trump. Ever since she saw a clip of him speaking poorly to Megyn Kelly on CBS Sunday Morning months ago (it seems like years ago), she has despised the man.
Nothing since then has convinced her otherwise. Understandably so.
Still, when confronted with a weekly reader at her school featuring a piece on Trump’s inauguration, she said, “Most of the kids in my class scratched his face off the cover of the magazine because they all hate him, too. But I didn’t. I wanted to be respectful even though I really don’t like him.”
Had Clara scratched his face off the magazine. I would not have complained. I may have even cheered the decision.
Still, I was proud of her. I appreciated her surprisingly nuanced understanding of respectful dissent.
Her little brother, by comparison, is fond of saying that Donald Trump belongs in a trashcan.
A lot less nuance.
Also, whenever my daughter takes the side of nonconformity, it warms her Daddy’s heart. It’s not always the path of least resistance (as I well know), but I believe it’s the path to inner strength and enlightenment.
