I don’t live in Rhode Island. I live right next door to Rhode Island, in Massachusetts. This means that I don’t vote in Rhode Island, but I am deluged with television ads for their political candidates.

Right now, a woman named Ashley Kalus is running for governor in Rhode Island, and every morning, somewhere between my first coffee and my power bar, I see a couple of her commercials.

And every morning, as sure as my power tastes like a shingle, her kid, a cute boy of maybe 8, appears to tell me how tough and smart his mommy is, and what a good governor she’ll be if only voters will oust the lazy, corrupt incumbent against whom she is running.

Shut up, kid.

And it’s not just poor probably-gonna-finish-second Ashley’s kid who bothers me.

I like kids. I don’t have kids. I used to be a kid, though, and I liked me a helluva lot more as a kid than I like me now. I believe all kids should have Star Wars toys, salad, cupcakes, clean sheets, pets and easily findable parents.

Ashley’s not alone. Over the years, I have seen a depressing increase in the number of parental candidates who use their kids in political ads.

“I wuv my daddy,”” the city council candidate’s kid lisps on local radio. “Vote for my daddy, and he’ll fix the boo-boos in the city budget.”

Shut up, kid. You’re 6.

I was raised by people who thought you didn’t have an opinion until after you moved out of their house. Once you were punching a clock and paying rent, then you could say something.

My father used to call home from work and say, “I’m bringing home Chinese food.”

At age 9, I was not asked to put in my order.

The kids get trotted out on the commercial, and they’ll continue getting trotted out until they’re old enough to develop a crack habit. Likewise, wifey shows up on the commercials until come-to-Jesus Republican candidate hubby gets caught in a toilet stall at the airport, swapping more than business cards with some guy who’s catching the 8:47 to Phoenix. The family labradoodle can be dragged out forever, or at least until he lollops over The Rainbow Bridge, far away from his power mad owner.

Anyone who’s spent any time in the greasy backwater of electioneering will tell you that the use of family “humanizes” the candidate so you think he or she must be a good person because they have kids. I know people in prison who have six or seven kids, though they usually don’t have the labradoodle. A pit bull. They have a pit bull.

I don’t blame the kids for being in the commercials. The kid’s 6. Being in mommy’s commercial is like being taken to see the Easter Bunny. Your parents take you. You sit on the bunny’s lap. You get your picture taken. Same thing with the commercial, only no bunny, and maybe no candy, either.

I blame the parents, though. What kind of moral degenerate pimps his/her kids out just to become governor? You gotta want it pretty bad if you’ll sell the family for a win

Back when I was a kid, back when my folks sometimes got the bright red pre-shut-off notices from the electric company, maybe my dad should have taken me along on job interviews.

“I wuv my daddy,” I could have said when Pop was looking for work as a bartender. “He doesn’t spill beer when he pours one, so you won’t lose any money on him.”

It probably wouldn’t have worked, and Pop wouldn’t have done it, either. Despite the pre-shut-off notices, there was a limit to what he’d do for a job.

It’s America. It’s 2022. Pride isn’t a virtue, it’s a character flaw.

Here is the commercial: