I started with my kid’s homework panic last night. He had to explain "theocracy" in one crisp sentence by morning. Teachers love that jargon, right? So I sat down to brew coffee and brain-dump.
The Wobbly Start
First, I grabbed a dictionary. Big mistake. The definition read like a tax form: "system where divine guidance blah-blah authority vested blah-blah..." Nope. A kid’s brain would melt. I ripped that page out and chucked it.
Stalking Real Examples
Then I dove into history rabbit holes:
Iran today? Ancient Egypt? Vatican City? Way too messy. But noticing how priests call shots there helped. Scrawled on a napkin: "God’s crew runs the government." Still sounded like a bad gym slogan.
Kitchen-Testing Phrases
Time for human trials. Cornered my sleepy wife:
- "When God doubles as president?" She yawned, "Sounds sci-fi."
- "Politicians taking prayer requests?" "Cute," she said, "but vague."
Then my kid wandered in for water. I tossed out: "Like church elders being mayors, cops, and judges." He blinked: "Oh... like if our pastor fined people for not tithing?" Ding!
The Final Chop
Slashed syllables until it fit in a text:
"It’s when holy books replace law books, and clergy run the state."
Kid fist-bumped it at breakfast. Teacher gave him an A. Moral? Strip fancy words. If it survives a 10-year-old’s glare, it’s gold.
Funny though—my own school trauma flooded back. Seventh-grade history fair, sweating over "mercantilism." Dad threw dictionary gibberish at me. I bombed hard, stuttering through slides while Sarah Johnson smugly showed puppet kings. Vowed that day to murder jargon. Still carving up big words like cheap steak.
