She climbed couches and broke wrists. Once, she hung on the ropes at the bank. The brass stand holding the ropes in place buckled and fell, and her scalp split open. I ran her to the ER, where she received three staples, never even wincing. But yesterday – Sweet Mother Mary – she sat and she thought and she responded. “Yes, daddy?” She responded when I said her name. No raised voices; no bedtime tears.
But still – and always – a badass woman. The horns of her bull have been ripped off and shot into space through powerful arms and steadfast justice.
“You know something, daddy?” she asked me. “Trump is a very bad man.” And then she wrote down her reasons.
My three-year-old followed: “When someone says stop, we stop,” he said.
“That’s why Trump is bad,” she said.