CAN MY KID REALLY RECALL ME?

Byline: Joseph Honig Local View

STYMIED by algebra - and a dad's inability to help - my 12-year-old daughter was angry, frustrated and disappointed in her math-challenged father.

``You don't really help,'' she insisted. ``You only make things worse. I ought to recall you.''

``You ought to what?'' I asked.

``You heard me,'' she said. ``You sit here and try to understand problems you just don't get. When I don't get them either, you just drag the whole thing out.

``It's like the governor sometimes,'' she continued. ``He talks about what's wrong. And says he'll do better. But from what I hear, California will still be paying off this year's bills when I am in high school.''

And so it goes when one's child spends mornings with the newspaper and evenings with newscasts. Not that she understands it all. Not that the finer points of politics or public finance break through. After all, there are Ashton and Justin to intrude on current events. Not to mention Cameron and J.Lo.

``It's like this,'' my kid said a little later. ``If I could recall you, I might at least finish my homework myself. Or give it my best try. I wouldn't have these long discussions about which PG-13 movies are bad for me - even though so many of my friends have seen them twice.

``I might even get to clean my bathroom when I want - instead of on your schedule.

``Dad, I am going to talk to mom about a recall.''

This is what happens to the child of two former journalists. This is what happens when parents insist that offspring know who's in office, who's in the Cabinet and the names of Supreme Court justices.

This is what happens when MTV is supplanted by CNN.

It is, on occasion, a mixed blessing.

``You realize,'' I admonished my daughter, ``that if I am removed - with votes from mom and your grandparents and maybe some cousins - that there is no lieutenant dad to take my place. Your whole notion of parental recall collapses then and there.''

``I am not so sure about that,'' she said. ``Remember, this has never been done before. I could name grandpa as your logical replacement. I watch way more television with him. He has also never heard of bedtime.''

At that moment I knew, really knew, that California's brazen electoral experiment has trickled down to the middle school set. For it is one thing that our special election next month - if it takes place - has an entire state talking. Chalk it up to unintended consequence.

It is quite another, though, when one's own child brings a civics lesson into the living room. Peaceful, orderly revolution appeals to citizens of all ages. Registered voters or not. That is the hard part.

Because mothers and fathers in love with democracy must - if they are to succeed - run their families as caring monarchs. There is no other way. It was my job and responsibility to say, Sorry, kid, you cannot recall your dad.

``Then I will appeal,'' my daughter said sternly. ``Like I saw on the news. I can't go to court, but there is always Mom. Maybe she can throw out your rules and make new ones. Maybe she can run an election where I'll be able to make my case.''

``Tell you what,'' I countered. ``What do you say to a little extra allowance? Not a windfall, but a nice bump. Possibly 100 more cell phone minutes? An earring spree in the jewelry district?

``I am sure we can work something out. I am not prepared to involve your mother in something that will give her so much glee. You know she loves it when she's super-parent and I come off as Mr. Wrong.''

``I can't believe what I am hearing,'' she said. ``I don't listen to the news for nothing. I know about special interests. About insurance companies and Indian tribes trying to buy their own candidates. And I am not for sale.

``Dad,'' my kid intoned, ``my recall campaign is on. You might think it's just symbolic. And what if it is? I can't help that. But you are going to survive. In power or out. And maybe you will learn something.

``Just like California.''