Timmy Goes to Washington

Timmy Goes to Washington

Timmy was going to Washington!  His mom and dad, and the Johnson’s were going to go drive from their nice little suburban neighborhood to the high rolling, policy making streets of the nation’s capital in the Johnson’s brand new Winnebago.
As the two families stored two weeks worth of clothes, toys and supplies in the Winne, Timmy said “Mom does Suzy have to go too?” in between the chant of “WHINY WHINY WHINY”.   Before she could answer, Suzy, the Johnson’s daughter said smugly, “Timmy Its WINNE, not WHINY!  And of course I have to go because my parents say so. Besides, it is our Winnebago.”  Suzy was going to be in second grade and thought she was superior to Timmy just because she could ride her bike without training wheels.  
Timmy smiled to himself when he remembered the time he dangled a worm in Suzy’s face and she ran screaming to her house.  Besides, she had a flock of plastic, pink flamingos that lived her front yard. No kid should be proud of that, but Suzy was.  It was going to be an interesting two weeks.
Twelve hours and five temper tantrums later, Timmy’s family and the Johnson’s rolled into the bustling metropolis that is the nation’s capitol.  As they passed the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial and the Mall that did not sell clothing, all Timmy could do was stare in awe.
Each day seemed the same, only the places changed. Wake up, have breakfast, listen to Suzy’s never ending chatter, but on this day Timmy didn’t care. They were going to the White House!
During the metro ride, Timmy kept bouncing up and down and asking “are we there yet, are we there yet?  How much longer?”  As Timmy kept bouncing, his mom kept looking at Timmy’s dad muttering something about never again letting him have sugary cereal.  This confused Timmy because there isn’t any other kind of cereal,  is there?
Finally the two families stepped onto Constitution Avenue. There before them stood the most famous house in the country, if not the world.  1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The place where the leader of the free world called home, the home that has hosted hundreds, perhaps thousands of foreign diplomats and tourists from every place, and every walk of life.  
Timmy ran in circles in front of the large flowerpots that sat in front of the residence that restricted the flow of traffic in front of the White House. Where he got his energy, no one could guess.  Suzy’s dad asked Timmy’s mom if she gave him speed.  “I feel the need, the need for speed,” said Timmy quoting his mom’s favorite actor Tom Cruise. She thought he was cute. Timmy thinks she’s weird for liking him and not the Olsen twins.  Timmy continued running around the flowerpots and up to the huge iron fence.
Finally, after shuffling through a line that seemed to go on forever, Timmy, his family, and the Johnson’s finally made it inside.  Looking at ropes separating the public from the furniture and photos that graced the public part of the House, Timmy grew bored.   Tugging on his dad’s his sleeve; he asked loudly, “Do we get to see President Shrub? Huh huh do we Dad, do we?”  Several of their fellow tourists chuckled.  “Son, you mean President Bush. And no, we won’t be seeing the President.”  “Why not,” Timmy asked. “Well son, the President is a very busy man. He has a really hard job and it takes a lot of time to run a country.”
A voice boomed, “That kid over there. I want him.”  Everyone stared.  A petite young woman came barreling from behind a door, and came to stand in front of Timmy’s family and the Johnsons.  The woman explained, “The President is introducing a new education policy and the children that were supposed to show up for photo ops cancelled at the last minute. We found some replacements but the photographer wants one more child to “balance out the photo.”  Suzy straightened her dress as her parents pushed her forward.  The woman looked at them and frowned.  She then turned her attention to Timmy and said, “What is your name son?”
Glancing up at her and looking at her questioningly, Timmy said, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?”
The young woman looked perplexed for a moment and smiled brightly.  She said, “Oh. You’ll be perfect.”
Once again while explaining to Timmy’s parents why she needed him, Timmy shuffled his feet. What was this about photo ops and the President?
Turning to Timmy once again, the lady said, “Now that I’m not a stranger can you tell me what your name is?”
“Timothy Edward Jacobson. No one ever calls me that but Mom when I do something bad. So, I guess you can call me Timmy.”
   “Timmy, would you like to meet the President?”
Timmy nodded enthusiastically as the young lady took him by the hand and led him away as his parents followed and prissy Suzy cried ‘cause she didn’t get picked.
“…And that’s how I got to meet President Shrub,” said Timmy to his classmates on his first day as a first grader.