If only kids could vote.
I’ve spent the week pounding the pavement and banging on doors across Ward 9 where some of the most enjoyable responses have come from children. Usually they are shyly clinging to, or peeking through, parental legs.
But not always.
Like the evening I met two teenie-bopper girls laughing their way along a Lorne Avenue sidewalk.
“You’re the guy on the signs” shreiked one.
“Ah, you recognized my big nose.” I suggested, expecting them to insist I had a nice nose.
“You got it,” said her friend.
At a house on Courtland, a mother said her daughter had given her strict instructions to vote for me.
“She’s been reading up on the issues?” I asked.
“No, said Mom. “She likes the way you smile on your signs.”
Other curious kids who come to doors with a parent usually grab our brochure, stare at the photo and check me out. When Sue, my triple-A-canvasser wife, asks if the picture looks like me, the kids usually take their time to make the comparison and then nod thoughtfully.
But when I asked one eight-year-old boy if, given the chance, he would vote for me there was a long pause.
“Maybe,” he said. “I’d have to talk to my mom and dad.”
Best of all, in my Victoria Park neighbourhood, I met a father who said he had no choice about voting for me because of his two daughters.
“They’re first-time voters?” I asked.
“No…they can’t vote. But they’re saying I have to vote for you.”
“Because,” he laughed. “They say you give out the best Halloween candy.