My Earliest Political Statement

To be truthful, I do not remember this story AT ALL.  It is family lore and has been told to me many times.  Keep in mind; my mother's memory is both selective and creative ... so I cannot vouch for the accuracy of this story. I was December 1970 or 1971. My father, after completing his duty in Vietnam flying Med-Evac helicopters, was flying Marine Corps One for President Richard Nixon.




The White House was having some sort of Christmas party for the staff. It was a candlelight tour of The White House. Knowing my Mother and Father, I am sure that they spent all day getting ready.  My Mom with her hair rolled up in rollers the size of soup cans, except for her bangs, which were taped to her forehead with that pink tape everyone used back then. She probably used enough Aqua Net that night to make her own personal hole in to ozone. My father, in his office, with his groovy music playing on his big reel-to-reel stereo system, polishing his medals and bars. His already perfectly starched and ironed dress blues would be hanging by the door. I am sure that Francis, my heavy-set, black nanny, had scrubbed me up and made me sit still and play quietly until we were just about ready to leave. Right before my parents would leave, she would put me in a clean diaper, stuff me in my starched dress and set a big bow with scotch tape to my nearly bald head.


I imagine that the white house was beautiful. The entire house decorated for Christmas, pine boughs, red ribbons and white twinkle lights placed throughout the building.  Tables of hors 'd orderves and sweets displayed meticulously as staffers went by and tasted the fare. The time came for my mother, father and I to greet the president. The story, as told by my mother, goes something like this:


"Your Father and I took you up to see the president.  He was smiling and seemed very excited to meet you.  Your father introduced me to the president and I shook his hand.  He told me you were a very beautiful baby and then outstretched his arms to hold you. I handed you over to the president; he sat down on a settee and set you on his knee. He was smiling and talking to you, you were smiling and drooling (you were teething and a drool factory at the time) and then all of a sudden, his face changed.  He lifted you up and handed you to me. I noticed a wet mark on his pants where your butt had sat. The president excused himself and I took you to the bathroom to change your diaper. When I came back from the bathroom, your Dad was mortified and the president was wearing a different pair of pants. That is the story of when you peed on President Richard Milhous Nixon."