Dictator Granny Demonstrates Democracy
Tyrant Granny’s Intro to Government for Kids & MAGAs
Grandma’s authoritarian methods of demonstrating politics in action
Introducing concepts like politics to kids can be dull. There are parts of early education we miss, keeping us from being ideally informed voters.
When I was an 8-year-old kid insisting politics were boring, stupid, and had no effect on me, my Grandmother made the face. Her left eyebrow raised to impressive heights, indicating you’d better duck and cover over the incredibly stupid thing you just said. Riding in the car with her on the way to something important — shoe shopping — I knew I’d screwed up.
“You may not be concerned with inflation, interest rates, or the cost of bread, but everything our government does impacts you.”
She accelerated through a red traffic light and intentionally hit the biggest pothole, nearly causing brain damage as my head hit the roof of the car.
“Grandma! It’s not legal to run a red light!” I yelled.
“Who says so? If our local government wasn’t working with the police department, nobody would be around to stop me.”
“But you could have hurt us, or someone else! It’s not right!” I insisted.
“So, you think we need laws for driving rules? Maybe our local politicians should fix the crater in the road?”
Her left eyebrow was migrating towards her scalp and beautifully coifed hairdo. I wondered if they’d actually meet.
I realized this would end with my embarrassment, if not a tragic car accident. My willingness to hold a worthless point of contention was inherited from her.
“Politicians lie! They’re like dumb animals who can’t be trusted. That’s why one is a blue donkey and the other’s a red elephant.”
She pulled fast moves — the left eyebrow relaxed as her right spasmed — something new. At the same time, she began singing Peggy Lee’s “I’m Sorry” and didn’t look as she sped past a Yield sign.
“Grandma! You’re going to kill us!” I imagined multiple injuries, and how I’d explain to my parents why Grandma was in a coma and facing manslaughter charges.
She slowed the car slightly.
“Patty-girl, there are important lessons you need to learn. The Government makes teachers and parents teach you the basics, but life is complex. You need to pay attention to become a good citizen as an adult.”
Ut-oh, this was going to be bad.
“Your Grandfather was in a foul mood last night after finishing our tax returns. He wrote a check to the US Treasury. There’s a percentage of wages that go to taxes, and he doesn’t always save up the money before Tax Day, or ‘pay-for-the-privilege-of-breaking-my-balls-Day’, as he calls it.”
Oooh - while not officially a “bad word”, it wasn’t one I’d choose.
“Who makes up the percent? Is it the same for everybody?”
“The Government decides. It depends on how much you make, and if you’re a worker or a business. It’s better than being a dirty red Communist.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Who decides who will be in charge of deciding?”
I was already leaning towards antiauthoritarianism and meta-analysis.
“The People choose.”
“What people? Can other people take over?”
“When we vote every adult decides who they want to help make rules. It’s called representation. If someone does a good job, they keep their position. Otherwise, the voters pick someone else.”
Welcome to Democracy.
Still very attractive in her 40s, Grandma drove a convertible sports car and made us call her by her first name — Betty. She enjoyed being mistaken for someone much younger.
Once safe, I chose elaborate white sandals with long straps crisscrossed up my calf. Slave sandals, Grandma said. I only wore them once, at home.
Ignoring our ages, Grandma chose two pairs of matching platform shoes with thick cork soles. I stumbled. Laughing, she said I looked like Tiger’s pup when it took its first uncoordinated steps. Somehow, it didn’t phase her when the mean little boy poodle gave birth to a litter.
“Oh, I’m not her mom.” Betty gushed when the store clerk mentioned our resemblance. “I’m her sister!”
I was an expert eye-roller.
Lying wasn’t a foreign concept to me but this seemed wrong, even if it was just a joke. Her radiant smile faded as she noticed my disapproving look.
“Shall we speed on home? Or would you like to stop to eat first? We’ll have desserts for lunch then run out without paying the bill. All the laws are suspended on this beautiful day so we’ll leave the top down on the car.” She pulled a long warm head scarf from her macrame purse.
I secretly hoped her eyebrow would get stuck in the cold rain.
Betty made her point but still seemed to enjoy seeing wet whips of hair slash my cheeks while driving with reckless abandon.
Kids weren’t supposed to criticize adults. People in power were beyond the equal justice rules in the wayback. The best we were allowed was a sneaky poke-out-your-tongue in reprimand.
I’ve found traffic cops, teachers, and the IRS don’t appreciate this demonstration of self-expression.
While less satisfying, it’s less costly than January 6, 2021.
Big thanks to editor Andrew Rodwin for his help — always a pleasure.
Thanks for reading!
Copyright © 2023 Patricia Jeanne
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