Mom Goes Political

“Who’s our new president?” my ninety-two-year-old mom asks. “His name is Don?”

“Donald,” I say.

“I don’t know his last name.”

“Trump.”

Mom is almost totally deaf. “Dlumf?” she says. “That’s a hard name. I don’t like it.”

“T-R-U-M-P,” I say, “like in the card game.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything about cards.”

We repeat letters back and forth for a while. “Trulb, it’s a hard word.”

“He’s been president about 130 days.”

“I read up and always voted for years, but I don’t anymore. . . . T-R-U . . . is it an N or an M?”

“M like in monkey.”

“Oh, okay. Weird name. The other guy was president for eight years. His name was hard, too.”

“I remember. Not a common name.”

“Well, I can’t see or hear anymore, but I try to keep up.”

“You do really well, Mom.”

“Trump,” she repeats. “T-R-U-M-P. Not sure I’ll remember it.”

"It's okay if you forget."