Let The Children Sing

I would imagine that my mother is glad that she's not running for President of the United States. Not because she's not qualified. Patient, wise and fair: what else could one want? I do believe that where she might run into trouble is keeping track of her children's behavior. Like when our current "president's" son relays racist tweets. Junior passed along this gem last week: "Kamala Harris is implying she is descended from American Black Slaves," read the message written by Ali Alexander, a fringe alt-right activist. "She's not. She comes from Jamaican Slave Owners. That's fine. She's not an American Black. Period." As is his fashion, Junior deleted the tweet from his account after it generated a cyberstorm of reaction, defining once again his family's courage in their convictions. 
Then there's Daddy's little girl, Ivanka. She got to go along on daddy's business trip to Japan, and had a lot of fun pretending to do her daddy's job. She got to sit at the grown-up's table at the G20 Summit. Then she got another plane ride to Korea, where she accompanied daddy to the DMZ. She described the experience as "surreal." 
I think we get that.
Meanwhile, in the not-so-red corner, we have the recent interview with Joe Biden's son in The New Yorker. The one in which he describes being held at gunpoint while attempting to buy crack cocaine, and how he dated his dead brother's widow. After being torched in the second Democratic debate, by Kamala Harris, I'm not guessing that Joe really needs this kind of publicity. 
All of this sends a message to my mom: Don't run. I am sure that the time that I ate a Hostess Ho-Ho dipped in cheese fondue would almost certainly come to light. 
And then there's this blog.
Sorry, America, for depriving you of one of the best and brightest. You're just going to have to trust me on this. 
Yes, I know: Trust me.