My kid could become a, gulp, Republican one day

Before I became a parent, never did I think I’d say some of the things I say on a daily basis. Like this morning I was standing at the changing table when I uttered these words to my daughter. “No, you cannot look inside your brother’s tush with your flashlight.” I mean, seriously? And the scary thing is I think she really wanted to, poopie diaper and all.

But then later on I was thinking, maybe she’s interested in the inside of tushes, and am I going to stop her from pursuing her interests? I pride myself on being a supportive parent. Maybe she’s going to become a proctologist one day, and who am I to tell her she can’t? As parents, aren’t we supposed to encourage them to be whatever they want to be? And then I thought about it.

The answer is no. The other day I was watching Toddlers and Tiaras. In my defense, aliens had come down from outer space and used toothpicks to prop open my eyelids so I couldn’t help but watch it. A girl on the show said she wanted to be Miss America and her mom said, yes, in nineteen years you will be. Now there are lots of things wrong with this statement as far as I’m concerned, but let’s just examine one of them. In nineteen years there will be only one Miss America. Just one. So you might want to come up with a more attainable goal since there’s a good chance your daughter isn’t going to be that one. No matter how good-looking she is. And yes, even if you get her hair plugs and have the doodie brown birthmark removed from her chin.

It got me thinking, how do we pick and choose which careers to support and which ones we should discourage? Proctologist, support. Hooters waitress, not so much. Coroner, support. Fluffer, I don’t think so. President of the United States, support support support. President of the NRA, hells no. Wait a sec, what if she’s a Republican? What if she loves guns? These are things I’ll have to accept. And back to Hooters, what if fake tatas are her thing? I guess I’ll learn to love Hooters wings if that’s she wants to be. Or my son. Although I’m not sure how great he’ll look in pantyhose and orange polyester shorts.



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