The joys, challenges and revelations of parenting during the age of Kamala
When Vice President Kamala Harris held her first rally as the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee, my husband and I watched intently as our daughters wandered into the room. They could see how excited we were—standing close to the TV, our hands clasped tight, my eyes welling up with tears. They asked us who she was, and we told them, “That’s Kamala Harris. And she is going to be our first woman president.”
“She looks like me,” said my 6-year-old, the daughter of a Nigerian American father and white mother.
My life’s work with Vote Run Lead Action has been to get more women elected to political office, so Harris is a staple of our conversations at home, thanks to her constant appearances on our screens. Her major moments—the announcement of her candidacy, the acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention, the decisive showing at the presidential debate—have been major moments in my household, too. Accordingly, my daughters, who are 3 and 6, have organically developed their own awareness of Kamala.
It started with the flash of recognition of someone who looks like them. Over time, they began to see other points of connection. My kids, like Harris, must navigate what it means to be mixed race while finding their own individual identities. My daughter Ebele overheard me correct someone when they mispronounced “Kamala” the other day. “It’s KAH-muh-luh,” she heard me say, in the same way my husband and I frequently correct people when they mispronounce our daughter’s name: “It’s pronounced Eh-beh-leh.” These similarities are one of the ways we’ve been talking to our two daughters about Harris.
To my daughters, Harris is the quintessential American, not an outlier.
My daughters are too young to understand what is at stake in an election that could result in our first woman president, but they are old enough to pick up on their parents’ enthusiasm and feel a natural connection to her. Seeing Harris’ blended, multiracial family on the campaign trail is something that makes them feel proud, joyful even. Ebele is now prone to chanting “Ka-ma-la, Ka-ma-la, Ka-ma-la” whenever she sees an American flag. To my daughters, Harris is the quintessential American, not an outlier.
Talking to my children about Kamala Harris ultimately also means talking to them about Donald Trump. The other day, my daughter asked me whether “we hate” Trump. It was an opportunity for us to reinforce to our kids that no matter what differences may arise—whether on the basis of identity, party or worldview—everyone has a place in our country, and we should strive to find common ground. As Harris says, there is far more that unites us than divides us.
I’ve seen how talking about Harris and their connection points expands my daughters’ ideas of who can be president, who belongs on TV and what women can achieve. These conversations we’ve been having as a family often mirror those I’ve had out in the world with other adults as we get closer to a potential election outcome that forces us to challenge our thinking about what is possible.
While traveling back from the Democratic National Convention, I sat with two white men who were deeply enthusiastic about Kamala. Their energy excited me but their questions quickly became pessimistic. How would she handle a head-to-head with Trump? Was she up for the challenge?
I don’t hear the panicked whispers of ‘is this country ready for a woman president?’ anymore. It feels normal.
Instead of getting frustrated with them, I started listing off her bonafides: district attorney for a major U.S. city, attorney general for the most populated state in the country, senator for the same state and the current vice president of our country. But then I noticed one of them had a baseball cap in his bag and decided to speak his language: Think of her as a seasoned athlete making a deep playoff run. She will adapt to the challenges each successive round brings, continually rising to meet the moment until she wins the championship. It worked… I think.
I don’t want to be naively optimistic about where we are as a country, as Harris and other women of color candidates across the country regularly face misogyny and racism on the campaign trail. We undoubtedly have a lot of work to do to examine our individual biases, dismantle institutionalized racism and sexism, and redefine what it means for women to be owning our political power. It is why I have dedicated my life to this exact fight.
But what I’m hearing about how we’re talking about Harris feels so different from our collective dialogue about Hillary Clinton in 2016. I don’t hear the panicked whispers of “is this country ready for a woman president?” anymore. It feels normal.
Maybe too normal. When I was putting up my daughter’s artwork in our window, my 3-year-old said, “That’s not a Kamala sign” and shook her head disapprovingly at me. For now, the windows in our house only display “Kamala” and the art is back on the fridge.
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