Lin Jakary, (author of I Lost My Sock, and The Jakry Kids: Curiosity Shop) asks kids the intrepid question:
If you wanted to be president, how would you get people
to vote for you?
You have to know lots of magic tricks to be president. I know how to make magic. I know how to take a bunny and I put it in a box and slide it out and make it disappear. I can make him come back. I can put a ball into a big black box, it’s plastic and it doesn’t break. I say magic words and make it disappear. I can make it come back. I got a big thing with flowers on top, you pull part of it, and the whole thing goes whap, and it falls down. I guess I’d have to learn a few more tricks to be president.
Future Brain Doctor
First, I’d win three gold medals so my name would already be in the
paper. Then I’d tell people that if you were really a poor person, you could go into any restaurant and say, “I’m poor,” and they’d have to say, “Okay, go on in, it’s free.” I’d drive around the country and talk to people so they could see that I was a nice person and that I could treat them good and give them things that they need. I’d change a few of the rules and make a few new ones to make life better. Don’t throw sticks and stones at people. Don’t shoot cowboys. Don’t catch Garibaldis. They want to stay in their homes just like you do.
I’d go on a loudspeaker and talk through it and stuff, and tell people what my name is. I’d fight a war, and whoever won would get the country or something. So I guess I’d just win. Like the time England wanted to be California. There was a war with bombs and airplanes and stuff. The rule is: whoever wins it gets it, and gets to keep the name they want. That’s why our name is California. I’d make a lot, a lot of promises. I’d tell people if they saw those round things—what do you call them—flying saucers– I’d tell them not to be afraid. Hey,
I’m really a nice guy.
Well, first I’d be on a game show. When I become very famous and win all the money, I’d just slip into the election. I’d always appear on television. Do you know what I’d do? I’d just tell the newspapermen, “I want to be President of the United States.” They’d just write it down and just deliver it. So in the paper the next day it says, “Rusty D. wants to be President of the United States.”
It might say U.S.A., you know, you can abbreviate it like that. Actually, it would appear big. They may have a different bigger name right across the top of the paper, but mine would be right up there. People would know me.
I’d do favors for them, like say if I was in the White House and I was going to the Laundromat and my neighbor needed her laundry done too, I’d take it for her. When you’re a woman, it’s best to be on television with a bunch of judges with a bunch of those hammer things. They’d be banging them one at a time and saying, “Vote for Claire.” Each one would make a speech or me. Then I’d get up
and say, “Vote for me, don’t vote for George Washington or Ronald Reagan, or whoever’s president now.” I’d promise I wouldn’t send anyone to the dungeon.
Who wants this and who wants that? Who wants a golden ring and who wants a silver necklace? I’d talk to them on a television movie.
I’d say, “Today, some people dug up some very special fossils. Now I’m going to give them to someone else, so please call our phone number this instant. If they wanted the fossils they could call up and get them. I‘d give away things that I got tired of. I’d say,
“Unfortunately, there is another president fighting against me. He’s asking the people for gold, silver, copper and all the riches in the land. It makes people greedy. Sara S. wants to be president, and she deserves it!”
Probably by being nice and letting some people work half day. If they needed to work all day, they could. I’d take a train and go around to different states. This is sort of funny: I’d throw cigars out to the men first, and then I’d make my speech, I’d say, “Hi, I’m Aisha H. I’d like to be president and you would get paid for working half a day. I’ll be a nice president. I’d also make some rules in restaurants like, “You can’t smoke in this area, but you can in this other area, and here’s an area where you can have a birthday party.” Being a president wouldn’t be fun. I’d like to be a ballerina.
I’d go up to their door and say, “Who you going to vote for?” I’d tell them, “I’m Brian W., and I’m going to be on stage to be voted for.” I’d give them a lot of money if they voted for me. I’d do good things, like make the stores not have their items for very much money. You know, especially food and stuff. Food and art stuff–glue, paints—they cost too much money now. I’d let people go on trips whenever they wanted and it wouldn’t cost them any money. I’d say, “I’d be a better president.”
I’d try to impress them, show them what I could do—that I could be a good president. That’s a hard question. I’d give speeches. I’d drive…no, I guess I’d fly around; be on television. I’d be kind. I could help people that were really poor. I’d go around to meet people and I’d shake their hands. I’m not sure what I’d say, something like, “I am Charlie A. I can be a good president for this country, and will you vote for me…please?” Something like that.