Right before the election in November, I noticed a couple of picture books in my 7-year-old’s classroom. One was “My Dad, John McCain,” and the other was “Barack Obama: Son of Promise, Child of Hope.” Sam’s teachers said they were both good books. What a great way that was to introduce the presidential candidates to the ages 6 through 9 in terms they could understand.

I’m not sure what kind of discussion they had about the election in my 5-year-old’s studio, but the two boys told me day after day on the way home from school that “Barack Obama is going to be our next president.”

I still see McCain/Palin stickers — Sarah! and NOBama! — at school as I wait in the car line each day, and I wonder how those parents reacted when their kids climbed into the car and start chattering about the president. It’s not always easy talking about this stuff, I’ve come to learn.

Sam has been surprisingly vocal about Obama, and he’s done something few people can — he’s left me completely speechless.

The day of the inauguration, he reported that they’d watched “the president and his girlfriend get married on TV” at school. I can’t recall ever seeing a television in his studio, so I asked him where they watched it. In the gym? In another classroom? He couldn’t remember.

“Actually, the president is already married, honey,” I said. “He was inaugurated as our president today — I guess you could say he married our country, in a way.”

But Sam was insistent. “No! I saw him!”

At least he understood the gravity of the ceremony and linked it in his frame of reference with marriage. Either that, or he was too busy playing with his friends and failed to pay attention — I’ll just assume it’s the former.

When we couldn’t agree to disagree, his mind turned to drink. “Can I have a Capri Sun when we get home?” It starts so young.

Sam doesn’t seem to be either a fan or a detractor of the president. We were watching television — a kid’s show, not the news — when he observed the following: “The president has weird ears.” He pulled his own ears out away from his head. “They’re like this. Only brown.”

I didn’t know what to say. My son had just mentioned pigmentation and the word “weird” in the same breath. My kids have never really talked about physical characteristics in this way before.

Diversity is beautiful in my opinion, but my son wasn’t saying that Obama’s ears were ugly — just that they stick out, which he finds to be weird. Big ears aren’t necessarily bad. (If they were, I wouldn’t have married his dad.)

I didn’t say a word. If he brings up ear size or skin color or any of that stuff again, I suppose I’ll tell him “Well, everyone’s different” and leave it at that.

Catching footage of one of the many inaugural balls, Sam pointed to the first lady in her white fluffy dress and said “See! I told you they got married!” I acknowledged that it did look like a wedding gown, but that really, truly they were already married.

The paper ran a color photo of the first family that filled an entire page. It was resting on our living room amid the debris of our everyday life, and Sam picked it up and studied it. “Look, Mom. Now the president and his girlfriend have kids.”

I was finished correcting him about the whole girlfriend issue, so I went a different route. “Yes. And their names are Sasha and Malia.”

He continued to study the paper. “I don’t think those are real names.”

Not real names? Again, what does a mom say to that? I didn’t get the sense that he was being unkind or critical — it’s almost as if Sam doubts the validity of the entire process. This is his first presidential election since he has learned to read. He’s turning into a consumer of the media, as it were. Is it too much to hope he’s just developing a little healthy cynicism?

I’m thrilled that Sam is interested in our government, and it’s great that he won’t be automatically won over by “ObamaMania,” but the process of educating kids about politics was not something that I ever gave much thought to. I’m completely without a plan here — but fortunately, not yet out of my depth.

Frankly, I can’t wait to hear his next observation. Even if I don’t know what to say, it’s the best political conversation I’ve ever had. I just hope he doesn’t start on my ears next.

Leslea M. Harmon is a freelance journalist in New Albany and a wife and mother of three sons. She welcomes your feedback at Leslea.Harmon@gmail.com, or via her Web site at lmharmon.com