The Kid Who Ran For President

by Dan Gutman

  “Hi. My name is Judson Moon and I’m running for president. I know a lot of you out there think that’s crazy. You’re saying a twelve-year-old kid knows nothing about politics. And you know what? You’re absolutely right! I don’t know anything!”

  The script called for me to pause for a moment at the ten-yard line while some guy tried to tackle me. I threw him a hip fake and he flew by me. Then I continued …

  “I don’t know how to raise your taxes or waste it on things America doesn’t need. I don’t know how to make secret deals with nutty foreign dictators. I don’t know how to ruin our environment. I don’t know how to pander to special interest groups. I don’t know how to get us into a war. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  I paused at the twenty-yard line to evade another tackle. Then came the big finish …

  “Look, I’m just a kid. I don’t know anything. That’s why you should vote for me on November seventh. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.”

  At that point a bunch of grown-ups start chasing me down the field — politician types, lawyers holding briefcases, ex-hippies, criminals with knives, housewives, soldiers, terrorists. I break tackles left and right and fake them all out of their shoes. Finally, I high-step over the goal line and spike the ball.

  As I was doing my dance in the end zone, a voiceover went, “Vote for Moon. He doesn’t know anything.”

  I just wanted to get a few laughs. But the commercial must have struck a nerve with the American people, because the day after it aired, I shot up to ten percent in the polls.

  Some of that gain was at the expense of President White, whose dog happened to bite a little boy during a White House tour. The poor kid had to get stitches in his leg. It was all over the news. I think a lot of people felt so bad about the boy that they switched their votes from White to me.

  I felt sorry for the president. It wasn’t his fault that his dog was out of control. He was in a tough spot. If he got rid of the dog, people would say he was only doing it to win the election.

  But that was his problem. We were six months away from Election Day, and the polls showed us at …

  President White: 43%

  Senator Dunn: 43%

  Judson Moon: 10%

  Other: 4%

  At least I was beating “Other.”

  When school let out in June, Lane and I were able to devote ourselves to the campaign full-time. That’s when we discovered a secret weapon we didn’t even know we had.

  The two of us went on the internet one night. I changed my usual handle from JMOON to JSUN so people wouldn’t know who I was. We clicked over to some comment sections to see what people were chatting about.

  Astonishingly, the screen was filled with people talking about me …

  TinCan: Moon is the one!

  Ox: I told my mom I would run away unless she voted for Moon.

  KitKatK: fyi, moon rally in boston tomorrow at 3:00 … tell everyone u know!

  BigDog: Moon is our only hope.

  CarGirl: Down with grown-ups!

  HHOK: :-)

  Coboe: Moon rules! Yessssssssss! TNX KitKatK!

  Wolf: MOONMOONMOONMOONMOONMOONMOONMOON!

  It went on and on like that. Just for the fun of it, I typed this …

  JSUN: Put an “R” in the middle of Moon and you’ll know what he is.

  In seconds, the screen was filled with people flaming me, telling me to get off the site, threatening me, and typing all kinds of vile things. Not a single person online had a negative word to say about Judson Moon.

  We jumped around from Facebook to Twitter to Tumblr to see what people had to say about me. Lane’s brother was older than thirteen so we could use his accounts. Each of these networks had millions of subscribers, and it was the same thing wherever we looked. Those same kids who were holding yard sales and selling lemonade were burning up the nation’s wireless networks trying to whip up support for the Moon & June team by modem.

  Some kids established web sites where people could download photos of me and Mrs. Syers, read our life stories, hear us speak, and find out how to start a petition to get us on the ballot in their state.

  While President White and Senator Dunn were wasting their time visiting flag factories and giving speeches to try and get themselves noticed, I was campaigning where the people actually were — glued to their computer screens.

  And the best part was, I didn’t even have to do the work! My supporters were in cyberspace campaigning for me. There were millions of Moonies out there.

  The work kids were doing online was definitely having an effect. The election was getting closer, and every day my ranking in the polls climbed a few points higher. By September, this was the way we stood …

  President White: 33%

  Senator Dunn: 39%

  Judson Moon: 24%

  Other: 4%

  I was over at Lane’s house when he flipped on the news and we saw Chelsea Daniels’s face fill the screen. She and a group of her friends were marching around the state capitol carrying signs that said “S.O.S.” on them.

  “Save our silkworms!” they were chanting. “Save our silkworms!”

  The reporter pulled Chelsea aside and asked her how she and I got along.

  “Oh, Judson and I have our little spats like any other couple,” she said. “But he always finds a way to patch things up. If we can settle our little differences, I’m sure he can bring our country together, too. That’s the kind of person he is. I’m sure he’ll be a wonderful president. And I’m really looking forward to being First Lady. Save our silkworms! Save our silkworms!”

  “She hardly knows me!” I said disgustedly. “We’ve never even spent five minutes together!”

  “I’m telling you, Moon,” Lane said, “that girl has the potential to go far.”

  We turned off the set and Lane dropped a bombshell — the League of Women Voters had invited me to debate President White and Senator Dunn live on national television a week before Election Day. Immediately, I started to panic.

  “Debate those guys?” I said. “I can’t even talk my parents into raising my allowance. Can’t we just make a video and send it in?”

  “Stop worrying so much,” Lane said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  Lane always seemed to have a plan. He flipped on his laptop and clicked open a file titled “Debate Strategy.”

  On the left side of the screen was a long list of all the “hot button” issues Americans are always arguing about. On the right side were numbers indicating how Americans feel about each issue. He had downloaded the data from the latest Gallup Poll.

  It looked like this …

  And it went on like that for dozens of issues.

  “It’s simple,” Lane explained. “This is how the average American feels about every important issue. All you have to do is memorize a paragraph about each issue that reflects that opinion. Average Americans will agree with you and they should vote for you.”

  “But what if my opinion is different from the average American’s?” I asked Lane.

  “You have opinions, Moon?” he asked with a sneer.

  “Sure I have opinions!”

  “Then tell me,” Lane asked. “Where do you stand on endangered species?”

  “Well, if they’re endangered I wouldn’t stand on them.”

  “Seriously now. No jokes.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “We’ve got to protect animals that are endangered so they don’t become extinct,” I said.

  “Okay,” Lane replied. “Would you protect some owls if it meant hundreds of loggers would lose their jobs?”

  “Human loggers?” I stammered. “I guess not.”

  “Okay, what’s your position on gun control, Moon?”

  “I’m definitely in favor,” I replied confidently. “If we get guns off the streets, fewer people will be shot and killed.”

  “But Moon, the Bill of Rights specifically gives citizens the right to bear arms.”

 
“Oh,” I replied. “Well, if that’s in the Bill of Rights, then people should have the right to own a gun.”

  “You can’t take both sides on every issue, Moon!”

  “Why not?” I complained. “I can see both sides of every issue.”

  “You look wishy-washy,” Lane said. “The public wants its leaders to have strong opinions.”

  “But what if both sides of an issue have a good argument?”

  “Then you follow the opinions on the computer,” he said, gesturing toward the numbers on the screen. “Those are the opinions the public wants you to take. People vote for politicians to represent them. So doesn’t it make sense that the politician’s opinion should be the same as the public’s opinion?”

  “That feels backward to me,” I said. “I think the president should form an opinion first and inspire the public to agree with that opinion.”

  “Moon, you don’t have any opinions!”

  He was right, I suppose. Taking sides has always been a problem with me. I can form an opinion, but as soon as somebody comes along and explains the opposite view, I change my mind. The last person I speak with always sounds right. Maybe that’s why people like me.

  Lane and I spent the next three weeks cramming for the debate. He wrote out my opinions on all the major issues and I memorized them. I didn’t learn a whole lot about the issues, but I learned which ones America was in favor of and which ones America opposed.

  Lane would grill me by firing questions at me repeatedly — “What should we do about illegal immigration? Unemployment? Medicare? The minimum wage?” I had all the answers on index cards. It was hard to keep every thing straight in my head.

  Boning up for the debate was much tougher than school, which I was missing more and more of as October went by and the debate got closer.

  With my army of Moonies all over the country working on our behalf, Moon & June kept rising in the polls. We were just ten points behind President White and five points behind Senator Dunn on the day of the big debate.

  Lane and I took a limo out to Chicago that morning and checked into the Palmer House hotel. What I found most amazing was that every where I went, people knew me. I had hardly traveled out of Madison in my life, and everybody in Chicago knew me!

  People in the airport rushed over to shake my hand. The hotel staff treated me like a visiting dignitary. Kids on the street looked at me like I was a rock star.

  The debate was two hours away. I started putting on my gray sport jacket and Lane stopped me.

  “Gray is boring,” he said, picking out a dark blue jacket and bright red-striped tie. “The camera will love you in this. Wear colors of authority.”

  I started to protest, but decided against it. Lane had gotten us this far. It wouldn’t be fair to start calling the shots myself now.

  Lane called a limo to take us to McCormick Place, a convention center where the debate was to be held. Security was tight. There were police and Secret Service agents every where, talking into their sleeves, constantly scanning the crowd for potential troublemakers.

  The thought crossed my mind that it would be cooler to be a Secret Service agent than to be the president.

  When we got inside, we were escorted to a room for our last-minute preparations before air time.

  “This is it, Moon,” Lane said. “What you say tonight can put us over the top. You can do it. I know you can.” He sounded like my Little League coach.

  I was nervous as a cat in a vet’s waiting room, and it showed. Sweat was coming through my shirt. I couldn’t stand still.

  “Relax,” Lane kept telling me. “Take a deep breath. Remember what I told you. Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Don’t look at your watch. Make eye contact at all times.”

  “With who, the moderator?”

  “No, with the camera,” he said. “You want to connect with the people of America.”

  I tried to go over my opinions on the issues. There were so many facts buzzing around my head that I started mixing every thing up. I felt like my brain was overloading, and the circuit breakers were shutting the system down.

  I started to panic. I forgot what affirmative action was. I couldn’t remember if I was for or against gun control. I could barely think of my name.

  What a time for my mind to go blank!

  And what a time for somebody to knock on the door and usher me to the podium.

  I was in a fog. I barely noticed President White and Senator Dunn smiling at me from their podiums. The director stood before us and whispered …

  “We’re on the air in five … four … three … two … one … lights, camera …”

  As I stood behind my podium and looked at the president of the United States fifteen feet away, a thought hit me that should have hit me about ten months ago.

  Who am I fooling?

  I don’t have opinions on any important issues, I thought to myself. I have no business being here. I only wanted to run for president as a goof. I never thought it would go this far. I can’t run a country.

  I’m like one of those idiots who runs on the field in the middle of a baseball game!

  But it was too late to back out. I couldn’t just walk off the stage.

  It was at that moment that I figured out my only option was to sabotage my own candidacy.

  I decided to do what I always do when I’m in a jam — play it for laughs and act like a jerk. Maybe America will forgive me for wasting its valuable time. Maybe people will say boys will be boys and let me go back to my normal life.

  The League of Women Voters, who sponsored the debate, had decided on a format designed to prevent candidates from rambling on and on — each candidate would be asked a question by members of a panel and have twenty seconds to complete his answer. The three of us would take turns fielding questions.

  The moderator introduced President White, Senator Dunn, and me. The panel of journalists fired the first question at Senator Dunn and the next one at the president. Each of them gave a very thoughtful, rehearsed, and (to me, anyway) boring response. Then everyone looked at me.

  “Mr. Moon,” I was asked, “a third-party candidate has never won the presidency. What makes you think your Lemonade Party can?”

  Lane knew I would be asked that question, and he had written a good answer for it. But I couldn’t remember what it was. So I improvised.

  “I look at it this way,” I said. “The two-party system is an improvement on a one-party system. Therefore, three parties should be an improvement on two parties. Americans love parties, and I believe the more parties we have the better. I would start a fourth party if I could, but I can only start one party at a time. So, in conclusion, I say … let’s party, America!”

  The place erupted. The studio audience was screaming. Half of them were laughing their heads off. The other half were demanding that I be removed from the auditorium. The panel of journalists stared at me, openmouthed. It took a while for order to be restored.

  As soon as I finished giving that answer, a sense of calm came over my body. I stopped sweating. I wasn’t nervous anymore. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I was back in the school cafeteria, goofing on Arthur Krantz and his jerky friends.

  The three candidates took turns. Every time the panel of journalists threw a question at me, I threw the answer right back….

  Q: You’re on record as saying your first official act as president will be to abolish homework. What will your second official act be?

  A: To abolish making beds. Why make a bed in the morning? You’re only going to sleep in it again that night.

  Q: What do you plan to do about jobs?

  A: I plan to get one as soon as my term as president is over.

  Q: Which president do you most admire, and why?

  A: Grover Cleveland. Because he became president despite the fact that he was named after a character on Sesame Street.

  Q: How do you feel about school prayer?

  A: Every morning
I pray that school will be closed.

  Q: What do you intend to do about teenage pregnancy?

  A: My dad says we’re going to sit down and have a talk about that, but he keeps putting it off.

  Q: It takes a tremendous amount of desire to become president. Do you have the fire in the belly?

  A: Yeah, it must have been those tacos I ate for dinner.

  Q: What’s the toughest part about running for president?

  A: Learning not to pick my nose in public.

  Q: What do you think we should do about hazardous waste?

  A: I’d suggest you try a strong laxative.

  That ought to do it, I thought to myself. I couldn’t say anything more disgusting, juvenile, or unpresidential than that. Nobody could possibly take me seriously as a candidate for president.

  President White and Senator Dunn stood there during my answers. Both of them were flustered. When the journalists asked them a question, they fumbled all over the place trying to look dignified. I guess they weren’t used to obnoxious kids.

  For our final statements, all three of us were asked to address one issue we would be likely to face as president — how to achieve lasting peace in the Middle East.

  The president gave a little speech about how he had formed deep relationships with all the Mideast leaders over the last four years. Senator Dunn said that the United States had to back up its friends in the event of a conflict.

  I didn’t have any strong opinion on the subject, and I couldn’t think of a good wisecrack. So I told a little story.

  “One time I was at a baseball card show and some kids got into a big argument over whose cards belonged to whom. I stepped in the middle of it and looked over their collections. I told one kid that if he gave the second kid his Ryan Howard rookie card and the other kid gave him two Matt Holliday cards, they would be even. I told the third kid that if he gave each of the other kids his Cliff Lee and Tim Lincecum cards, they would probably give him the Robinson Cano and Joey Votto cards that he wanted. To make a long story short, they made all the swaps and everybody was happy afterward. So I think I could keep everybody in the Middle East happy the same way.”