A NOTE TO MY TEACHER

 I want to thank you for your time Mr. Trump.

I am two years old. Actually two years and almost two months. I have lived my entire life with a President of indeterminate color, whose vocabulary is now smaller than mine, who has lost the combination to his moral code, who has so clearly taught me the  wrong side of the divide between right and wrong, who has less self control than anyone in my pre-school class, who doesn't know the meaning of grace or compassion, of friendship or kindness, who has shown me what hatred looks like and the damage it causes, who is willing to sacrifice as many lives as he has to in order to try to save one, who has obliterated the line between truth and lies.

I want to thank you Mr. President for everything you have brought to my young eyes, everything you have suggested to my young mind, everything you have tried to imbed in my young heart, everything you would instill in my young soul. 

I have watched everything you have done, heard everything you have said, seen everything that resulted from your words and deeds. I promise I have learned lessons from you that will stay with me forever.

But know this Mr. President. Until you have finished your latest rant, I want you to sit in time out. When you calm down I want you to pack your bags and leave your big white house without saying another word. 

You see, your time as my teacher is over. Your services are no longer needed. I can take it from here. 

You're fired.