Relay: A Girl Can Dream

I came home from work two Tuesdays ago to find my 8-year-old daughter wearing a fancy summer dress, with her hair brushed nicely after a day at camp. “I’m ready to meet Hillary,” she announced.

When I told her that I did not think that would happen, she crumpled. “Why not? You said she’s here. You said we might see her.” 

Ever since learning that Hillary Clinton would be visiting East Hampton, Jade had been hoping she would have a chance to meet her. It’s my fault for mentioning that it was a slim possibility. I mismanaged her expectations. A failure of Parenting 101. 

It’s a curious thing, her fascination with Hillary. She’s the only famous person, aside from Elsa from “Frozen,” whom Jade has ever wanted to meet face to face. 

On Primary Day, she told me, “Mom, you have to vote for Hillary. We need to have a girl president!” 

“Woman,” I reminded her, but it floored me, first that she had any idea what was happening in national politics, and then that she had such a strong opinion of who should get my vote and why. A simple reason, and a lot of people would say that’s not enough, but clearly the significance of this election for women is not lost on little girls. 

Trump, she says, “is too bossy.” 

I’ve heard kids the same age as Jade chatting on the beach about Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton and which one they thought stood a better chance of winning and for what reasons. 

My son, who’s 6, refers to the whole thing as “the Lady and the Trump.” 

Pundits and pollsters would do well to listen to what children are saying. It’s hard to kid a kid. 

I’ve never met Donald Trump, but had the chance to meet Hillary as a much younger reporter. And like many who live in East Hampton, I’ve seen her from afar here a number of times. I know someone who’s related to someone who’s a close friend and someone else who’s a friend of a friend, and so on and so on. In Jade’s mind, it stood to reason that a meeting was assured. 

When I was not that much older than she is and obsessed with all things Beatles, I would beg my parents to drive me by the Eastman estate, hoping I might see Paul McCartney just going out or just returning. Where I got my intel, I cannot be sure; we had just moved to East Hampton and knew only a handful of people. There were tall hedges surrounding most of the property, but as I recall there were some gaps by the tennis court, so when we drove by for the second or ninth or 23rd time, I would pay particular attention to the tennis court area. I’m pretty sure, though I cannot be certain, that once I saw his calves and his feet, but I never met him or saw his face in the height of my obsession. To this day, that’s one celebrity sighting that still holds a thrill. 

I didn’t go to such lengths to help Jade satisfy her desire to meet Hillary. There were no Spielberg estate drive-bys, we didn’t wait with a banner outside one of her fund-raising destinations, but boy did I kick myself when I saw Doug Kuntz’s photo of the Clintons smiling as they shook hands with a friendly passer-by at the Georgica Beach parking lot. Had we been in the right place at the right time, it could have been Jade. 

Back at home that Tuesday night, Jade sadly accepted that her face-to-face with Hillary was not in the cards this time around. The fact that she was so confident it could be is a beautiful thing. My daughter is 8 and she believes a woman could be president and she believes she will meet her. 

There will be a next time, I hope, and my smart and determined girl, a future leader to be sure, will be ready. 

Carissa Katz is The Star’s managing editor.