It's Good To Be King

by John Christmann

On a brisk fall Sunday morning, thousands of runners take to the streets of New York to run the annual New York City Marathon. It is a record turnout. Of course they could be snug in their homes eating chocolate donuts and catching up on the morning news like me, but I imagine that they find running a marathon less grueling than watching yet another election-drenched hour of Meet The Press.

Certainly my kids think so.

I have tried to engage my two younger children in this historic election, but the issues are difficult to explain. They want to know, for example, why closely contested states are not purple, why the Electoral College doesn’t have a football team, what donkeys and elephants have to do with a plumber, and why Tina Fey is so funny. Like any good politician, I answer their questions by addressing something else entirely. I tell them they are lucky to live in a democracy, that electing leaders is a liberty our country holds dear, that brave men and women have died to preserve and protect this privilege. I tell them what I know in my heart, but sometimes have a hard time believing amid the omnipresence of politics. But the fact is, after observing the wrangling and spinning and analysis that has dominated the air waves month after month, my younger kids want to be entertained by something more entertaining. They want to watch something else.

My older son is a little more interested in the election. He and his classmates have conducted their own mock presidential debates as part his American Studies class in school. He has a surprising command of the campaign issues, even if his analysis is a little misguided. And I accept his opinions, even knowing that he will probably exercise his right to cancel my vote when he turns eighteen. But even he has reached the saturation point. The other day he went to school carrying two campaign signs. One said: John McCain, major pain! The other said: Barack Obama, major trauma!
“We are running a negative campaign today,” he explained.

So on this Sunday morning shortly before the presidential election, as the candidates are giving their last appeals and thousands of marathoners are enduring an agonizing race, I give my kids a break and let them watch a movie. I open our cabinet full of DVDs that we have collected through the years, surreptitiously remove The Terminator, and let them have their pick. Needless to say, they can’t agree. My older son immediately grabs Monty Python and the Holy Grail. His younger brother wants to watch Star Wars. My daughter lingers over the stack of movies for several minutes, and thoughtfully pulls out a well-worn copy of Disney’s The Lion King, which she hasn’t watched in years.
“I like the songs,” she explains.

Her two brothers are appalled by her choice and immediately caucus in the rear of the room. I can’t hear what they were saying, but I see a lot of head bobbing and animated gestures, and then I notice a few pieces of candy passing hands. When they break, my younger son announces to me confidently, “We are going to watch Star Wars”.
Immediately, his sister screams in objection, “No way! I want to watch Lion King!"
My older son is unfazed by her outburst. “OK, let’s vote,” he says. “Majority wins.”
“What’s a majority?” asks my daughter.
“I’ll show you.” And then facing both his siblings, he asks, “Who wants Star Wars?”
The two boys immediately shoot their hands in the air. “Two against one. You lose. That’s a majority.” And then he opens a Snickers bar freshly negotiated from his brother’s stash of Halloween candy.
My daughter immediately bursts into tears.

I realize I am witnessing democracy in action—the doctrine of fairness manipulated artfully by back room politicking. This seems like such a natural, obvious exchange that I begin to wonder: did our forefathers shape our nation by observing their children? Did John Adams envision the bodies of Congress because his children were fighting over Harry Potter and the Advance of the Red Coats? Did Tom Jefferson foresee the Judicial System as a way to settle disputes beyond his reach in the back seat of his Monticello Minivan? Did George Washington wield presidential veto power as a way to ensure his young politicians did not raise allowances laden with pork? And did John Hancock sign the Declaration of Independence first because he had to leave early to take his kids to Patriot League soccer? I think these are pretty compelling arguments for our constitutional democracy.

While I applaud my kids for resolving their differences through a democratic process, I explain that this sort of manipulation is not really fair. And then I demand that the boys defer to their sister’s choice. Angry that he now has to watch The Lion King after so artfully securing the vote of his older brother through political favor; my younger son abruptly informs me that our house is not a democracy.
“If it were,” he tells me, “you would not be re-elected Dad.”

He has a point. Our household is actually more like a monarchy, over which I preside as deluded King. I rule from a drafty old castle that springs a moat and a wet dungeon whenever it rains. Knights from the realm travel great distances to bring me catalogs, offers for low credit, and demands for the payment of tithes. Court jesters humor me with fanciful quotes to fix the royal plumbing. A hairball breathing dragon covered in fur sleeps in my tower. With a firm and just hand I make the rules and enforce the rules, and all I ask in return for my benevolence is that my subjects worship me as their one and only sovereign. But they seldom do.

My wife soberly reminds me that my monarchy is really just a puppet government over which I preside as titular head. She is right of course, and my kids figured this out long ago. “Let’s ask Mom,” they say whenever I make a ruling. Still, as I tell my wife each morning as I roll out of our king size bed:
“I smell like Burger King, I sweat like B.B. King, I look like Don King, and I sound like Larry King—therefore I must be King.”

But despite the absence of true democracy in our house, it is still painful to think that my kids think of me more as King Kong than old King Cole, and that they might want to de-throne me for a more able and just King—one who doesn’t demand that they do their homework or mandate by royal decree what they watch on television.

“If you could vote for a new Dad, who would you elect?” I ask my son, who is still sulking over my ruling.
“Any one would be better than you,” he replies, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest.
“Oh yeah? Name someone.”
“Darth Vader,” he says.

So I make a conciliatory gesture to my son; because that’s what kind-hearted Kings do. I secretly offer to take him to the small television set that resides in the royal bed chambers so he can cathartically watch Luke Skywalker vanquish his father, the evil Darth Vader, and free the galactic empire from tyranny, thereby restoring my own image in his eyes. I offer to watch it with him, just the two of us.
“I can’t, Dad.” he says, lowering his head.
I am surprised. “Why not?”
“Mom told me I have to watch The Lion King too,” he says sheepishly.

A few minutes later he is sitting on the floor in front of the TV with his sister. Their older brother has decided to join them. I plop down unceremoniously on the floor too, forcing my way through their outstretched limbs until we are all comfortably entwined over cushions and throw pillows. My wife sits proudly beside us in the large, high-back lounge chair where I like to sit. The music rises, and we watch Simba, the lion cub, frolic happily in the African savannah with his father, the lion king.

In the other room the television news is still droning. I can hear the announcer. John McCain is in Pennsylvania, Barack Obama is in Florida, and one by one thousands of fatigued marathon runners are approaching the finish line. It is an historic time for democracy in this country. But for the next hour I think I will stay where I am: In a happy-go-lucky monarchy listening to my children joyously sing, Oh I just can’t wait to be King . . .