Living with Obama

I wear a hat around that says "Obama O8" on it. The first time Colm saw it he said, "Obama?" I nodded, proud of my son's decoding skills. We had the laptop in the kitchen during dinner last week so that we could watch the Texas debate. Tess hear his voice, looked up and said, "Is that Barack Obama?"
Then both kids practice saying Obama's name the way Scooby Doo would say it. "Rarack Rorama!" They crack each other up for a good long time with this.
Barack Obama may be the only name of a contemporary public figure that our kids actually know and recognize. Every other name just slides by like so much radio white noise (no racial slur intended). That is not to say that they don't hear things. Just the other day, Tess stopped what she was doing and tilted her head like the RCA Victor dog. A pundit on the radio was discussing campaign strategy. Suddenly Tess exclaimed, "What? It's dangerous to go naked in a debate!"
"Well, yes it is dangerous sweetie, but he said "negative" not naked."
Then today Colm is lounging on the couch with me. He looks at my cap, get a sly look on his face and says sweetly, "Dad?"
"Yeah Colm."
"Is Obama your favorite?"
"Yeah, he is."
Colm laughs and half shouts, "What about me!"
He's gotten me. All I can do is wrestle him into my lap and tickle him into submission for outwitting his old man.
K