A few trivial matters for Donald, and a pair of sparkly boots
DEAR Donald It’s bad, very bad, the way you get the blame for everything.
Shucks, I reckon blamers are mad enough to think it’s your fault some young people here don’t recognise the word trivial. Losers. (In case anyone out there wants to make something of that in fake news, let’ s be clear I’m talking about the blamers not the young people.)
Some 16, 17 and 18yearolds were flummoxed during a history exam when asked whether they agreed or disagreed with some dead dude they’d probably never heard of who said ‘‘Events of importance are the result of trivial causes’’.
What’s happened to the art of deduction? Or have they been confused by you drawing strange conclusions from the facts?
Maybe there were too many syllables in there, Donald. Syllables. Great things. But, as you know, it is better not to have too many of them.
So, what were those setting the question dealing with causes and consequences of historical events to do? If they’d tried to describe what trivial was, would the kids be able to get that? Unimportant, insignificant, inconsequential, inconsiderable, negligible, insubstantial would be far too long, and let’s not even go near pettifogging!
But, would candidates understand (sorry, I know that’s three syllables) some of the shorter ones? Flimsy, paltry, petty, trifling? In the end, are any of those words quite right? Is there a nuance (sorry, Donald, that comes from the French, but from olden times when that country was great) to the word trivial that makes it just right in that context?
Even if the word were explained/understood was there a risk some pupils would still be confused? They are in a world where the trivial is given big status (I want to say prominence but, sorry, too long) and the important (oops, ALSO too big) stuff is downplayed or ignored.
Perhaps this lack of knowledge has something to with what my old history student son calls (BIG apologies for this word) compartmentalisation of the curriculum. He wonders if there was a sense of indignation from pupils being expected to understand English in a history exam, ‘‘like the exam should somehow have tested history knowledge in isolation from language’’.
I reckon you would go for the idea of knowledge of anything and language being kept as far apart as possible. That’s how you roll.
Anyway, I am not writing to you to talk about history exams. I may be wrong, but I don’t think you care much for history or exams.
Somehow, though, you know that the ongoing special counsel investigation led by Robert Mueller into possible Russian or other foreign interference in the 2016 presidential election is a TOTAL WITCH HUNT LIKE NO OTHER IN AMERICAN HISTORY!
You have been concerned those involved with the investigation are going absolutely nuts, screaming and shouting at people and horribly threatening them to come up with the answers they want.
I am sure nobody could accuse you of behaving like that, but I digress.
As we hurtle towards the Christmas countdown, I have been trying to find you the perfect gift.
Nothing nasty, Donald. Not a roll of duct tape for slapping across your mouth, a toy cellphone where your tweets go nowhere or even a Trumpy Bear with its own builtin flag blanket you could hug to yourself when people are being mean.
For a moment, I thought I had found just the thing. Cheerful, colourful, glitzy and practical. Something to stop some of your critics in their tracks.
I was prepared to go out on a limb and risk a controversy about the size of your body parts.
Call me crazy, but it’s the sort of fearless outlandish behaviour you have modelled. And heck, I am not even on Twitter.
But even if your foot size is in sync with that of your hands, I doubt you could squeeze into childsize 10 (US) gumboots. I have had to admit defeat. I
HATE THAT!
They were a great fit for my 4yearold granddaughter. Rainbow colours, glitter and lights which scoot around the sole when you stamp your feet. Good for the soul and Angry People.
Think of the stir they would have caused if you’d worn them to that Armistice Day memorial event at the US military cemetery outside Paris . ( I know bad weather grounded your helicopter, and you missed it, but shouldn’t your staff understand the Plan B concept?)
Sadly, the boots are not an aid to logic. My granddaughter says going sockless in them will not result in blisters because ‘‘they are really glittery’’, and she cannot jump in puddles because that would get them dirty.
Maybe it’s a blessing they don’t come in your size.