Upon seeing the White House in person for the first time in either our lives, this is what my beloved child had to say:
- Why do they need such a big house? There's only the President, the mommy, the daughter, and the sister.
- Why are there so many windows? (Because it's a big house.) Well, WHY DO THEY NEED A BIG HOUSE?! We only have an apartment!
- Why can't we go inside? (Because we need an appointment, we can't just walk in and surprise the First Family at dinner or whatever.) Well, why don't they just go into a room while we go in and look around and when we're done they can come out?
- Why can't we see the daughter's bedroom? (Would you like thousands of people coming into our apartment and seeing your bedroom?) Yes! (Even your underwear?) Mom, that's stupid. I'd put it in a DRAWER.
- Why can't we go in?
- Why are there so many police? (Because people have tried to hurt the president before.) Why don't we tell them to stop? We can reinforce positive behavior and give them something like power bucks. If they behave they can get a prize. What? You mean shoot him? But that's NOT NICE!
- Why can't we go in?
- Is the President home? Can I meet his daughters?
- Are they eating dinner now?
- Why can't we go in?
- How big is the mommy's closet, do you think?
- How many bathrooms does it have?
- They really don't need that many rooms. Let's see, they need three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a room to watch TV... No, that place is TOO BIG FOR THEM.
- Why can't we go in?
- Like, whoah. They have a huge backyard, don't they? No fair.
After a gazillion questions like this, it was such a huge relief to find my standby answer translates quite well when concerning matters of national governance:
- I wish I were the President's daughter. Yeah! I want to be the President's daughter. Can I?
- I don't know, honey. You'd have to ask your father about that, 'cause I don't want to be President.
A pause -- during which I could finally catch my breath. And then:
- But why not?
- *splutter*
