“Holy crap!” I involuntarily exclaimed.
“What?” My eight-year-old ran to where I sat, on the sofa that doubled as my office chair. “What holy crap?”
I hesitated. It’s history, right? Why shouldn’t she see?
I pointed to my laptop, resting on the high table that served as my desk. On the screen, swarming figures in red baseball caps pounded at the windows of the US Capitol building with fists, poles, and stolen riot shields. They had broken one window—the reason for the “holy crap”—and were climbing inside.
As I searched for more detailed coverage, I explained to my daughter what was happening. She already knew about the election and how much I had hoped to get rid of our loathsome forty-fifth president, and she was especially enthusiastic about Kamala Harris. But now I explained the election denial, the rally, and the march.
The last time I had checked the news, half an hour earlier, protesters were still arguing with Capitol police across the barricades. The idea that they could break into the building had never crossed my mind. It didn’t seem possible. If the Capitol building was not secure, what place is?
Over the next several days, I debated whether or not to watch the inauguration live. As this was the era of Covid, my daughter was attending school virtually, in the same room where I sat and worked. Much of the ceremony would occur over her lunchtime. What if someone got through the heavy security and assassinated someone? How would I handle the possibility of my daughter witnessing this?
I finally decided I was going to watch the inauguration no matter what, and I would find a way to deal with whatever my daughter saw. We made M&M cookies for the occasion, and nothing happened to derail the events. My daughter’s teacher must have had the same concerns. She showed the class parts of the ceremony later that week instead of on January 20.
Laleh the Wayfaring Ghost 