Revolution

My very own captive audience, vessels clean and empty
Ready to be filled with My wisdom, My thoughts, My rules
No cartoons, no nonsensical brain candy in my house, NPR issues the truth
Over our radio. But who knew they were listening? Paying rapt attention.
“Momma,” she squeaks from her car-seat, “what’s a revolution?”
Barely eight in the morning, I am momentarily stumped. I am proud

“We the people work with our President. Our duty to ensure he stands tall and proud
A leader mustn’t disrespect the people. Must not make unfair laws and empty
Promises. The people will rise in revolution
To demand fair rules
Do you understand sweet-heart?” My daughter was paying attention. Close attention.
“Yes, Momma, I understand. Can we get one? I want a revolution.” Truth

Be told the hardest questions come early, before coffee brings clarity and truth.
It was well into December that election year before I stopped crying, again stood proud
“When are we moving to Canada Mom,” said the pipsqueak who pays attention
Best before breakfast or when I’m on the phone. My threats cannot be empty
Ones, and I said we were leaving. She is hungry to comprehend, to decipher the rules
She is laying the groundwork for her own revolution

Into each day, in our house at least, there comes a revolution
Little rebels grow dissatisfied with my nagging insistence on telling the truth
And washing hands and eating dinner and never-bending bedtime rules
I am the dictator, their oppressor. Who am I to say they can’t stand naked and proud
In the kitchen, dumping milk and eggs to the floor until the fridge stands empty
Bright and Cold. Inviting. They crawl in to hide from my glaring attention

Glaring, except for those rare moments when my attention
Gets diverted. By society. By the ones against whom I’d like to stage a revolution
It is their fault that my explanations are empty
Their fault I want to hide from my children the painful truth
About a world in which ugly things happen too often. A world in which I am most proud
Of their predisposition to reject unjust rules

Come on. Who could possibly find fault with my well-intentioned rules?
Balanced and fair, of course, but showing signs that I am starting finally to pay attention
To stuff that really matters. Playing dress-up, yes, and NPR too. I am proud
They show concern both with dancing princesses and presidential debacles. Revolution
Maybe. Listen to the children, they know the truth
They see when threats are unjust, when promises are empty

The little ones stand proud, quietly studying the rules
Discerning at once what is empty. They pay attention
And are ready for revolution. Let’s arm them with the truth