Trump

The Path to a Broken Promise

 

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I know that I left readers hanging with a “Name these insects” post last month, but I must address a timely topic.

Approximately 8 1/2 months ago, I issued this decree: if Trump wins the presidency, we’ll make Ireland our new home.

That was back in February, when the kids and I were enjoying an Irish road trip, and the chance to stay sounded dreamy. (Sidenote: I did not consult Martin before making my grand announcement.) At the time, six Republican nominees vied for the top spot, though Trump’s outlandish comments and quotes dominated the news cycle. Despite his treasure trove of whacky soundbites, Trump was generally regarded as the big joke. Not a “real” candidate.

Which is why I made a bet I couldn’t lose. For certain, Trump’s political success had a short shelf life. And if by some miracle he bested his Republican brethren, so what?  What were the odds that he’d actually win?

It was impossible.

I didn’t worry a whit, even as the party’s nominees fizzled in the primaries and Trump stood atop the rubble. I didn’t fret during the summer or even yesterday morning, as the kids parsed the hypothetical move overseas — which barn cats would go or stay, which horses would make the move, and would we buy or rent a house. I remained confident about my sure-fire gamble.

Until last night.

As I watched the results roll in, I mulled over the fact that I’d bought the media hype and blindly assumed that Trump’s presidential success was impossible. In truth, it was implausible and improbable. But never impossible.

I decided that a salve for the kids would come in cash reparations. And I figured that $200 was the fair-market price for a broken promise of this magnitude. Sure, I’d be out $600, but it was worth it to buy back their trust.

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This morning I awoke the kids and prepared to grovel. But first, I turned on the TV and let them soak in the results. They were astonished and dismayed. In an agonized chorus they shouted, “Noooooo!” in response to the news.

Actually, they appeared to be in physical pain over Trump, and I hadn’t even mentioned my plans to reneg on my promise.

Hadley was dismayed to discover her hopes for a female president dashed, but she was easy to placate on the Irish front.

She accepted my apology. However, she declined a cash settlement.

“I don’t want money,” she said.

“You don’t? Well, what do you want?” I asked.

“I want a sleepover, with one of my friends.”

Manageable, certainly economical. “Done,” I said.

Brynn wasn’t nearly as conciliatory. In fact, she was outraged over both the outcome of the election, and my bait-and-switch tactics. “You promised! You CAN’T break your promise!” she yelled, slapping the coffee table for emphasis. “You said we are moving! So we are moving! We. Are. Moving. To. IRELAND!!”

“I know I said that, but we’re not. And I’m sorry. But what about money? I’ll give you two hundred dollars, instead. Two hundred dollars.”

“I don’t want money! You said we’d move to Ireland if Trump becomes president!”

“Brynn, we are not moving,” I said firmly. “It’s not happening, okay? What about a vacation? Another trip to Ireland this winter? How about that?” Cayden nodded with approval, while Brynn glowered.

“Fine,” she muttered with disgust. “We can go to Ireland on vacation,” she said, pausing before adding, “…as long as that vacation lasts for four years!!”

I sighed and tabled the topic so they could ready for school. But the issue remains unresolved.

And while my money is probably safe, my word is devalued, especially in Brynn’s eyes. It will take time to repair my tarnished reputation.

I think that I can bolster my back-pedaling, by pointing out that there’s really no escape from Trump. His footprints are everywhere — even on Irish soil.

He owns a golf club and hotel resort in Doonbeg, County Clare. There too, Trump plans to build a wall — a 20-meter wide barrier — to combat coastline erosion.

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A Foolish Promise

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Back in February, when the kids and I visited Ireland, we couldn’t escape the topic of Donald Trump. In the car, we listened to radio news loops, detailing Trump’s quirky comments. In pubs, restaurants and shops, strangers queried us about The Celebrity Apprentice host’s political fame.

This was well before “Trump” and “presumptive nominee” shared a sentence. As of mid-February, six Republican candidates still jockeyed for the lead. And while Trump was holding the field at bay, most political pundits and media outlets treated his campaign as a farce. Trump wasn’t a real candidate; he was a titillating caricature, whose wacky remarks spiced-up a ho hum primary season. No one imagined he’d be ringleader in the presidential circus.

From my perspective, his campaign was fantastical. And on our drive to Dingle — prompted by another Donald soundbite — I declared the following:

“If Trump wins the presidency, we will move to Ireland.”

The kids lit up. You promise? they asked. I promise, I replied.

At the time, Trump had a better chance of walking on the moon than commanding the oval office.

But that was then… and this is now.

Trump’s presidential run is no longer groundless. And the kids haven’t forgotten my pledge. A couple days ago, they pondered a Republican win and lobbed out a bunch of questions:

Are we going to live with Auntie Sheep or will we have our own house? Will we move after the election or after inauguration? Can we bring Maisie? And what about the horses? Can we still go to sleep-away camp in West Virginia? Can my friends visit us in Ireland? 

I glibly answer their questions while pondering how to back-pedal out of a pinkie promise. We’ll have our own house; umm… I guess we’ll move after inauguration. Yes, we can bring Maisie, and maybe Rocky and Jazz, but not the other horses. We’ll see about sleep-away camp; and your friends can visit if they pay their own way… 

I never imagined I’d have to make good on a plan to relocate. Now I’m plotting a retraction.

Should Trump become the final one standing, I’ll renege on my decree and slather it with a heartfelt apology.

And if all else fails, I’ll pay them off.

Trump may become president, but cash is king.

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