My daughter is prepared. She has packed snacks, filled her water bottle, and suggested that we bring along a lawn chair, all to go down the street to vote. I hate to break it to her that due to the fact that we don’t live in a swing state there probably won’t be much of a line and we won’t be embarking on some kind of camping adventure. My six-year-old daughter had heard the warnings of long lines on TV and doesn’t quite understand why those some warnings don’t apply to us. But one thing for sure, I’m tickled that she is ready, willing, and yes, prepared to go with me to vote.
We gave her fair warning that she would be going with us to the polls, and that opting out was not a family option. Both my husband and I were dragged to the polls by our own parents. And I use that word “dragged” for a reason. When I was a kid, I hated going to the polls with them. It was boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. And I thought it was unfair. I was precocious and opinionated and believed I, a child, should also be able to vote. But at least I cared. I wanted to vote. I craved to vote. I yearned to vote. So when I turned 18, I was beyond giddy to be able to cast my very own ballot. The reason, I believe, I had ants in my pants to vote was that it was a process I had been on the sidelines of since I could remember. I saw it as just what people did when they grew up and a right I never took for granted. That is why I am dragging (yes, there is that word again) my daughter to the polls. Like or not, whether she brought enough goldfish crackers, gets bored in the line or if she too believes she should have her own vote, she will have instilled in her that it is her right, her prerogative, and her civic duty to vote.
Are you bringing or did you bring your children to go vote with you?