"Look! It's the bad man who wants to keep the Muslims out of Europe. Why is his hair so weird?"
This from my seven-year-old stepson, Freddie, in response to the televised spectre of Donald Trump, bathing in shameless, spray-tanned glory after becoming the presumptive Republican nominee last week.
My husband and I stared at each other in the kind of mute, bemused panic parents share when their kids start saying jaw-dropping things gleaned from the playground (roughly age three). The trick here, I have learned, is to gently correct the child without revealing that you are in any way annoyed or offended by the statement he's just thrown out there. The challenge is to maintain a suave Obama-like grace under pressure and to guide your offspring effortlessly, with a touch of irreverence, into the open arms of reason.
But with Trump, I was stumped – and rendered speechless by the alarming realization that our boy now believed it was normal for a mainstream politician in the Western world to spout racist invective.
At this point, Rob jumped in, initiating a calm and casual discussion about the dangers of xenophobia and political fear-mongering in the public sphere. It all made perfect sense and seemed to resonate. Freddie, who regards Trump as a kind of cartoon baddie come to life, was receptive to all this good liberal logic save for one key fact: He persists, against all evidence to the contrary, in believing Trump is British. At first this baffled me, but then I remembered he has, at various times, expressed the same fervent belief about Superman, Batman and, more crucially, Lex Luthor and the Joker.
Since then, I've learned from talking to other parents that Trump's brand recognition with children is instant and utterly pervasive. All the kids are talking about Trump on the playground. He is the Taylor Swift of politicians. Both our boys whoop if they see his face on TV. They recognize his villainousness, but this only enhances the pantomime effect. It does not stop their eyes from lighting up or their small bodies vibrating with excitement when presented with his image. Trump's charisma, viewed through the epic lens of childhood, makes total sense: The zombie apocalypse is coming, let's build a wall! What self-respecting kid doesn't see the rationale behind that?
In a recent talk he did at the University of Chicago's Institute of Politics, Jon Stewart summed it up when he said of Trump, "I'm actually not even sure he's eligible to be president. That's not a birther thing, and I'm not a constitutional scholar so I can't say, but are you actually eligible to run if you are a man-baby?"
It's funny, but it's also absolutely central to Trump's success – not only with kids around the world but with many disgruntled Americans. The feelings that most kids struggle with throughout childhood are not unlike the set of emotions driving many voters toward Trump. That sense of general frustration, loss of control, fear of the unknown and willingness to say whatever the heck pops into your head no matter how offensive or fantastical – these are normal characteristics of a healthy child's brain. In an adult, however, they are distressing. And in a president? Let's not even go there.
There is a viral essay going around this week on Facebook entitled An Open Letter To My Children About Donald Trump. In it, the writer advises his two kids Stella, 7, and Truman, 4, not to think about Donald Trump as a man but as "a way of thinking about the world."
"Being Donald Trump means you are afraid," he writes, "You are afraid of people who are not like you. … You are not Donald Trump."
It's good, well-intentioned advice, and I agree with the sentiment, but here's my problem: Donald Trump is a man. A man who is running for president. And I really don't want my kids to know that.
Which brings me to my carefully considered parenting advice on how to talk to kids about Donald Trump. While normally I'd recommend being open and honest on all fronts, I think the era of Trump calls for desperate measures. Specifically, flat-out denial. Join me in pretending to your kids that Trump is not a real person running for president, but a bad guy in a semi-scripted reality show that everyone happens to be watching this summer. If he wins, then the show was a hit and continues for four more seasons. If he loses, no harm done.
If you're uncomfortable with tricking your children, consider this: If Trump becomes the leader of the free world, the already frayed distinction between truth and fiction in American public life will all but cease to exist. The lying truthers will have won. The birthers will be reborn. Our only hope then will be Batman, who as we know is a British citizen. Let's keep Europe safe for Muslims. Down with the cartoon baddie Trump.