Stop Calling the President an 8-Year Old I started kindergarten about 6 months prior to my fifth birthday. I was a little reticent but I had on my new Buster Brown lace-ups so I knew I would fit right in. Two weeks into class my teacher Ms. Simms started lessons to teach us how to read and write simple words. For one week we practiced writing the word ‘dog.’ A week later we practiced reading and writing the word ‘cat.’ One month of school and I am brilliant. I can do something my two-year-old sister could not do, read and write. Look out Langston, William is looking over your shoulder.
My writing career started on the wall beneath the telephone table that was located between the beds in a room I shared with my uncle. Every day after school I would come home and write the words cat or dog on alternate days for two weeks. My illegible pencil marks suddenly turned into calligraphy masterpieces, I was a legend in my own mind. My masterful examples of penmanship turned sour quickly when my uncle decided to clean the room, I had not made that calculation. Well, you can guess what happened next. In March of 1961, I found out that day I would not be a singer either. My James Brown scream was not a threat to the Godfather of Soul.
I told that short story because I took a whipping not because I had written on the wall, but because I had lied to my uncle when I tried to blame it on my two-year-old sister. Whenever I listen to President Trump say, ‘no collusion, no obstruction’ or “he worked for me for a short time, a few months…” I am reminded of how I was so fearful of accountability I avoided it. Most children run scared, men should not. Donald Trump runs scared constantly. I can only remember one public apology. That was following his recorded admission of repeatedly groping women. Later he tried retracting that admission, saying the voice on the tape may not have been his. When you catch little Johnny at 5-years old with a fist full of cake and his face smeared in chocolate, you ask, what did you do? They look at you with eyes as wide as headlights and say, “ nuthin.”
Friday, when Mr. Trump was confronted in the Oval Office with a question about his language and the tone he has set for the country, in reference to the Christopher Paul Hasson terrorist case he said, “No, I don’t,”--“I think my language is very nice.”
If I wanted a clown, I would have voted for Will Ferrell…
That sounds like the response of a 5-year-old. So, we should stop insulting 8-year olds, they have more responsibility. No, I am not saying Mr. Trump bought 15 weapons for Hasson or wrote letters and helped amass a hit list, but he does have a smear of chocolate on his cheeks. Responsibility takes courage something this President has demonstrated rarely. Vote in 2020 for Change.