A few days after Christmas, my dad and I were browsing the Powell’s on Hawthorne when I noticed a copy of the first Harry Potter book illustrated.
“Stell might be old enough to dig that,” I said.
Then I looked at the price tag. At $40, she could wait to enjoy it. Dad being Dad, he bought it and gave it to her and she did indeed love it very much. We’re on to the second book now.
Last night, with those illustrations in mind, she picked up a copy of The New Yorker, the one pictured here, pointed to Donald Trump and said, “Look! It’s Dudley from Harry Potter!”
And then: “Is it Dudley from Harry Potter?”
I explained that no, it wasn’t. It was a man who was running for president. “But,” I said, “he is mean, and spoiled, and bloated, and loud, and he hasn’t been told ‘no’ nearly enough in his life.”
“Does he have friends who chase people?” she asked.
“He kind of does, yeah,” I said. ”
Turns out she was kind of right. Donald Trump is basically Dudley from Harry Potter. Score one for kids and books.
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