When I was younger, I often avoided political discussions. My hesitation was largely due to a lack of understanding of the political landscape and a fear of not being able to hold my own in heated debates. I hadn’t taken the time to explore my own political beliefs, and although I could name a few prominent figures in my party, I wasn’t confident in my ability to back them up.
I mostly sat on the sidelines as election seasons came and went. Sure, I participated in national elections every four years, but I couldn’t even clearly articulate the role of Congress or the responsibilities of our leaders in Washington.
That all shifted for me after the tragic events at Virginia Tech in 2007. The news of 32 students being killed by a troubled peer left me and the entire nation in shock. As I watched the coverage, discussions about gun control, campus safety, and mental health services filled the airwaves. I was deeply saddened by the images of the victims and felt overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness regarding the state of our nation.
As a mother with a son about to enter kindergarten, I was particularly concerned. Who would ensure his safety at school? What mental health resources existed in my community? Where exactly were my local tax dollars being allocated? Admittedly, I was oblivious, but I was determined to learn more.
Fortune smiled upon me when I discovered a local politician was hosting a pancake breakfast meet-and-greet the following week. I arranged for a babysitter and walked into the fire hall with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Who was I to question a government official? What right did I have to voice my concerns about gun safety and school security at such an event?
But I reminded myself that I was a mother wanting to protect my child. I was a woman confronting her fears of appearing uninformed on social issues. And, I was a citizen of a country whose founders had fought for my right to speak up about what I believed in.
As I prepared my breakfast, I listened intently to the discussions around me and waited for my chance to speak. When the representative finally addressed my question, I felt a surge of courage. With trembling hands, I stood up and asked him what specific actions he planned to take to safeguard children in the aftermath of the Virginia Tech tragedy. In that moment, I felt like a superhero.
To his credit, he responded candidly. He talked about budget constraints, bureaucracy, and differences among political parties. While he didn’t have all the answers, I felt heard, and that was empowering. By the end of the breakfast, I was introduced to the local fire chief, who assured me he had plans in place to protect our schools. The trust I felt in his words fueled my sense of responsibility.
That day, I left not just full of pancakes, but also filled with a newfound sense of empowerment. In the fall, I cast my first vote in a local election for that very politician.
That’s why I vote. It’s not about fighting or tearing down opposing views. It’s about taking control in a chaotic political landscape. When I hear unsettling political rhetoric, I remind myself that my voice matters, and I can make it heard by simply pulling a lever. I vote because the people representing me shop in the same stores I do. I vote because, at the end of the day, we’re all just people. We are the embodiment of what the Constitution stands for.
I vote because I’m no longer the timid, uncertain woman I once was. I vote because there was a time when women had to fight for their right to cast a ballot. I vote because I firmly believe in my convictions and refuse to hide from political discussions. I vote because, in that moment when my vote is cast, I feel like a superhero.
So, do whatever it takes to get to the polls—find a babysitter, bring your kids, or take a break from work. Just make sure you VOTE this November. For more insights on family and parenting, check out this informative post on Modern Family Blog.
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