Washington DC [US], May 26 : I've covered the White House for years, but nothing prepared me for the moment my seven-year-old son raised his hand in the briefing room and asked about Donald Trump's favourite soccer player.
It was White House's Take Your Daughters and Sons to Work Day, and I'd brought Yuvaan and five-year-old Yana (leaving my youngest Yara at home) along to see where Mummy works. They have been on campus before, but this day was different.
What started as a drive to downtown DC became something rather extraordinary.
As we walked through the security checkpoints and down the historic pebble beach leading to the West Wing, Yuvaan and Yana stared wide-eyed and darted between the television crews and security personnel who populate this unique ecosystem of power and press.
Before the formal proceedings began, the "Wranglers", the tireless White House press aides who corral and shepherd the press pool, made sure all the children were comfortable and then gave way to something altogether more tender and a keepsake momento. The always so courteous Micah Stopperich, Allison Schuster and Olivia Wales approached the children with small packages - chocolates bearing the U.S. presidential seal, a tradition that transforms young visitors into holders of presidential history. Kieghan Nangle, the executive assistant to White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, handed one each to Yuvaan and Yana, too. I watched Yana examine hers with wonder, turning the packet over, looking at an opening. Yuvaan, ever the thoughtful observer, carefully tucked his away, already understanding the significance of what he held. These weren't just candies; they were special.
The charming Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt walked in and, after her brief remarks and then turned to the children scattered throughout the room, inviting them to ask the questions of the day. The briefing room has witnessed history for decades. Presidents have announced wars here, policies have been dissected, careers made and broken. But that afternoon, it belonged to the children.
The young reporters primarily questioned Press Secretary Leavitt about personal details regarding President Trump. She found herself sharing lighthearted information such as his preferred ice cream flavour, his desired superpower, and his attitude toward physical affection.
When asked about the president's fondness for embracing others, Leavitt responded positively: "I believe he does enjoy giving hugs. I've witnessed him embracing children, family members, and the first lady on numerous occasions. So yes, I would say he appreciates that form of affection," she answered the young journalist.
My son's hand shot up. In that moment, watching him stand to address the nation's press secretary, I felt the peculiar pride that comes with seeing your child step into your professional world. His question was wonderfully childlike: "Who is Donald Trump's favourite soccer player?"
and Leavitt admitted her uncertainty.
"I'm not sure about that - it's an excellent question though. Let me follow up with the President, and I'll get back to you on that. I do know he enjoys soccer and sports in general," Leavitt replied to the young reporter.
Yana then posed a question that stemmed from genuine curiosity rather than any political motive - she simply wondered about the preferences of the nation's leader.
"Which room in the White House does President Trump like best?" Yana inquired.
"I believe his top choice would be the Oval Office. It's stunning, and he's decorated it beautifully with gold accents. Everything has that MAGA gold theme now," Leavitt responded to Yana.
The next day, the press aides called the briefing "the cutest briefing ever." But it was more than cute. It was a reminder of why journalism matters - the simple act of asking questions, of seeking to understand how our world works.
As a foreign correspondent, I've covered conflicts and elections, tossed questions to prime ministers and presidents. But watching my children participate in American democracy, seeing them realise their voices could be heard in rooms of power, was perhaps the most meaningful story I've ever witnessed.
We left the White House that afternoon with presidential chocolates and something more valuable - the knowledge that in a democracy, even the smallest voices matter. My children learned that asking questions isn't just what journalists do; it's what citizens do.
Years from now, when they're older, I hope they'll remember that day not just as fun with Mummy at work, but as their first lesson in civic engagement. Sometimes the most important stories aren't the ones we file, but the ones we live.
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