MyThreeDaughters

Fontaine’s very concerned about the election. As I tucked her into bed tonight, she grilled me:
“Daddy, who are you going to vote for, Obama or McCain.”
I told her.
She told me, she was going to vote for the other guy.
I knew that. That’s Fontaine: You say tomato, I say peach.
But she told me, “I think Obama’s going to win.”
Why?
“Well, when we were <a href=”http://www.7-election.com/”>at 7-11</a>, I saw like seven people come out with Obama cups and only one with a McCain cup.”
I attempted to explain that the demographics of the area immediately surrounding this particular 7-11 could, um, seriously weight the outcome she had observed and that there was probably a different 7-11 in the suburbs that was strongly favoring McCain.
She asked why I was voting for my guy.
I explained that, while I was a strictly non-partisan journalist who has had his brain removed and replaced with high-grade plastic so as to prevent me from having an opinion, many people believe that Obama would better represent families who have a similar amount of financial wherewithal as us (i.e. none), would be concerned with providing better schools and health care for kids like her and would perhaps end the war in Iraq, which is costing our country $10 billion a month, more quickly than McCain.
She argued, however, that she had heard that despite McCain’s support of the $700 billion financial bailout he would be a better advocate of a strong dollar, which, while it would initially prove harmful to our trade deficit, would in the long-run enable CEOs and bond traders to make mad profits, and in the end that would benefit every American.
“I’m confused,” she said. “I don’t know who I’m going to vote for.”
I told her that it didn’t matter, as long as she read up on the candidates and voted. That was the main thing, in our country: To vote.
“Daddy?”
Yes.
“I need to see pictures of Obama and McCain.”
O.K.
“I don’t care if it’s on the computer or in the paper, whichever is faster.”
We’ll do it in the morning, buddy.
The fate of a nation, not to mention the color of a Slurpee cup, hangs in the balance.