As a politician, I can state unequivocally that “I love all children.” They are our future. They are our most vulnerable citizens, needing the greatest attention. History will judge us by how we’ve treated them, and (never forget) they make for great photo ops.
Every piece of campaign material should have a shot of the candidate reading to a group of smiling, eager-to-learn children gathered around the candidate who should be reading from a recognizable classic of children’s literature. And as George W. Bush learned, it is even better if the book is being held right side up while the candidate pretends to be reading.
As a parent, however, I’m not as sure about this “love for all kids” thing. Oh, sure, I love all of my children, stepchildren and grandchildren; love them with a steadfast passion that survives every testing of the limits, angry outburst, repulsive habit, or plain bad decision they demonstrate. But sometimes other people’s children aren’t very loveable. Often, people who publicly shout their love for all children don’t have any themselves. Time-tested parents are wary of such effusion. They know better.