Lessons I'm Going
To Teach My Kids
Too Late #33
We were driving to my school, but I wasn’t going to class. Mom was going to vote in something called an ‘election’, so I was excited.
The parking lot was fuller than usual, with a steady stream of people entering and leaving the front door. Signs had been posted directing everybody to the gym. No dodgeball today, it had been transformed into — well, not something magical, but definitely different than I had seen before. Tables ringed the outer edges and curtained booths stood mysteriously at strategic locations. I eyed them cautiously — she hadn’t mentioned those. People were disappearing inside for a few minutes, then re-emerging and either quickly leaving or hanging around to talk to someone they knew. I looked around for any familiar faces, but saw only adults. Okay, so there wouldn’t be any fun, but I got to see my school gym dressed up as something else. Totally worth being dragged along.
A man crossed my mom’s name off a list. She had already told me I wasn’t old enough, that I couldn’t vote until an inconceivable number of years had gone by — I was fine with that, I was used to it. I was just happy to be there as if that was somehow part of the process.
She told me to wait, not to move, as she swept behind the curtain. I stood transfixed, waiting for some transformation, an exultation, a revelatory flash of illumination. I had seen something like this in movies, but a costumed superhero emerged and flew up into the heavens, not my mom in her regular jacket simply saying, “All done, let’s go.”
Back in the car, I pressed her for details. Who was that man you talked to? What was it like inside the booth? How old do I have to be again? Will the gym still be like that tomorrow? Who did you vote for?
“I don’t have to tell you.”
I had seen the candidates’ names. They meant absolutely nothing to me. I didn’t know their platforms, their politics, what they stood for, or their intentions. I didn’t even know what they were running for. I just wanted to know who my mom had picked.
“It’s a secret ballot. That means my vote is a secret. I don’t have to tell anybody.”
“Not even me?”
“Not even you.”
The betrayal stung deeper than anything I had ever experienced.
What was this ‘democracy’ that could turn my own mother against me?
I lost my desire to vote.
Still haven’t found it.
Lesson #33 —
Rock The Boat
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