Here's To You, Mrs. Robinson

If I needed any actual evidence that America has a new president (we do, in case you've been in Ulan Bator and somehow missed the coverage), I get the sense that we are now awash in stories telling us more than we ever wanted to know about Barack Obama and all his kith and kin. No detail of the Obama's private lives seems too trivial to merit a story about it. We get to hear about the First Dog. We get to hear about what kind of White House china Michelle intends to pick out--not the official White House china every First Lady picks out, but what kind of china she intends to use in the White House's private areas. And a few weeks ago, we got to hear all about the First Mother-in-Law's taking up temporarily residence in the White House, to help smooth over her granddaughters' transition into Washington.

According to a New York Times article of January 10th, Marian Robinson's arrival in the White House has produced some trifling amount of friction in the First Family. She approves neither of the rules Barack and Michelle set about watching television (the Obama girls apparently watch less than an hour a day), nor of the Obamas' penchant for preparing healthier versions of unhealthy foods. Bless the woman's heart! She actually said, "if you're going to have fried chicken, have fried chicken." (Sadly, the Times left to readers' imaginations Mrs. Robinson's opinions on black-eyed peas, fatback, and watermelon).

If the First Mother-in-Law still has qualms about moving to Washington, however, I might suggest another home, one she has already visited: my EFL classroom.

Mrs. Robinson made her appearance today in an elementary group I have been teaching now for about a month. My students in this class are a group of corporate wives from Tajikistan whose studies are, apparently, financed by their husbands' firm, a major Russian investment company. Today, I had the privilege of teaching them English vocabulary about the family as well as the use of the possessive 's. Looking for an interesting hook, I decided to use the Obama-Robinson clan.

In retrospect, I should have done my homework a little more thoroughly for this. I couldn't for the life of me remember either Marian's name and had to put Barack and Michelle's parents up on the board simply as Mr. and Mrs. (even more inaccurate, since Barack Obama's parents are no longer married). A group of Tajik ladies now also believes that Michelle Obama has a brother named Eugene, because I hadn't remembered to look up his real name. Apparently, it's Craig, and he's a professional basketball coach. Go figure.

On the other hand, I did get to correct one of my students' misimpressions that Barack Obama is a Muslim. Yep, that story has apparently made it as far as Tajikistan. I managed to explain, in halting Russian, that many people in America think this, but it's not actually true. Ah well. At least nobody asked me if our Commander-in-Chief is a magic Negro.

So here's to you, Mrs. Robinson. Whether Jesus loves you more than you will know, I will not fathom to guess. But my ladies from Tajikistan think you're pretty cool.