My son, at 11, is anti-Bush.

His favorite show is The Colbert Report.

He is a Democrat in the making.

I suspect, well, am quite sure, he got this from me. Sometimes I think this is funny. Mostly, I find it amazing because yes, I influenced him, but he came in large part to his own conclusions.

About two years ago, he asked me the difference between a Republican and a Democrat.

This is something I did not ask anyone until I was at least 23. My friend Lane can attest to this. She was the person to whom I asked it. By that time, I am ashamed to say, I had been a reporter for two years, five if college counts. Even after that, my momentary interest in politics slipped away and did not re-emerge in any significant way until perhaps as little as five years ago.

So to hear this question from a 9-year-old threw me for a loop.

I did my best to explain.

He furrowed his brow at the thought of Democrats taking taxes - money from people who had earned it - for social programs. He was, he decided, a Republican. At this, I furrowed my own brow. Apparently, I'd done a more objective job of explaining these things than I'd thought. I threw out one more sentence, describing a few of the programs those taxes supported. I talked about the homeless, and the mentally ill. Robby does not yet know anything of my history of mental illness. Yet something of my passion no doubt crept into my tone.

He changed his mind. A Democrat he was.

I explained, too, that there was no need to choose a party. But I clearly lean left. And so does he.

Robby doesn't just watch the Colbert Report. He understands it. More than once, I have explained the element of sarcasm, the character Stephen Colbert plays, that the message he relays is far more than the words he uses. The second time I went over this with him - certain the subject matter was just too deep for him - he cut me off. "I get it, Mom."

Last night, rain drove us inside and eventually, to Storm Stories, the best we could find among the Sunday night lineup. Our friend Laura, in whose home we were overnight guests, sat with us in the living room. We had mostly been a silent trio throughout the evening.

A lead-in to a story about Hurricane Katrina included short, sometimes incomplete quotes from the mayor of New Orleans, desperate residents and the president.

The camera focused on Bush addressing a crowd, his face earnest, his tone strong. "The worst disaster in natural history ..."

"Is Bush!" Robby quipped.

I looked at him, then at Laura. She and I burst into laughter. Robby watched us, and followed suit, his laughter louder than ours, clearly delighted by his own joke. Moments later, he and I were still exchanging occasional glances and bursting into fits of laughter.

Sometimes, I find the concept of parenting an awesome responsibility. I wonder how this job fell to me, that anyone could deem me fit to mold another person. It seems an honor, and a task, too great. The further realization that my son is molding his beliefs, both religious and political, to mine - and not his father's - is at once wonderful and terrifying. To me, a so-called journalist who for most of her life has cared very little about politics, an 11-year-old is turning to learn the values that will shape his future. Sure as I am in my own views, I am humbled by the idea. And proud almost beyond expression by his interest and comprehension of subjects that were beyond me for so long.

But what's even better than being an interesting person is, in my mind, being a funny one. Hopefully, I'm raising both.