Elliot is my youngest. He’s 14. He just started high school. Elliot is unlike me in so many ways. He’s an extrovert’s extrovert. For every degree of awkward aloofness that permeates my every cell in every social setting, Elliot thrives in crowds, makes friends quickly, becomes popular with blinding speed.
A few weeks ago, I heard through his mother, who teaches at his high school, that he was “running for class president.”
I’m no tiger dad. I have no vested interest in his winning. I have no vested interest in leveraging his self initiated ambition (I don’t even know how he came up with the idea of running) for “his” future benefit.
I don’t care if he wins or not. Loosing might be a better teacher. It usually is.
Elliot is not an object, he’s my son. I’m not trying to churn anything out of this.
But I’m happy to see his initiative. I did ask him on Monday, “Elliot, heard you’re running for class president, do you need any help?”
Classic Elliot: “no.” End of conversation.
I heard he made the posters. Apparently he copied a famous image of Cesar Chavez and inserted his head. (I think I remember lecturing him on a drive up the 55 freeway on workers’ rights and wage disparity while I was listening to Springsteen’s The Ghost of Tom Joad). Everyone loved the poster, his mom told me. He likely had the idea for the poster but had friends (probably female) “help” him. He wrote the speech, I presume. He writes better than his dad.
His mother just forwarded me the quicktime video of that speech.
“I vow to be a humble, caring, thoughtful leader…”
I had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. He stood at the podium. Classic Elliot. Poised. Huge smile. Hand in pocket. Nonchalant. Booming deep voice. Crowd swooning (female) with his every gesture.
A humble, caring, thoughtful, leader.
I’ll take it.