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The Little Things

I still keep seething, not just about this election, but also the 2016 election. Last night I was on a webinar with other heartbroken women, who thought this time would be different. One woman mentioned that this all felt like PTSD. The meeting tried to focus on healing and giving space to mourn before getting out there again. And while I understand that need, it was not resonating for me. Just like the many (many) posts on my social media feed that keep spotlighting positive quotes and talk of self-care end up making me feel more angry.

Instead, I find myself ruminating back to another election, not to 2016, but 1984. I came home from junior high one day to have my mother tell me that my father had registered to vote for the first time (if you know me and you’ve heard me tell this story or read a previous post about it, I’m sorry, but we all have things in our lives that get stuck). I think I hadn’t even realized he wasn’t registered to vote. It turns out he wasn’t excited to go vote to re-elect Reagan, nor was he upset about Mondale’s policies, it was all about voting against a woman. My mother tried to make light of the situation and laughed (always trying to keep the peace); I didn’t laugh.

If you’re now assuming this will be some redemptive tale, then you will be disappointed because that's not the case. Rather, I’d like to ask people like my dead father, who couldn’t bear to see a woman in power, think about their vote for a while. Because let’s call a spade a spade – if you vote for a convicted sexual abuser and convicted felon instead of a highly competent and accomplished woman you are sending a clear message. No one is ever going to convince me that it was about inflation or immigration. Yep, I’ll be forever angry, and rightly so.

I’d like to point out something to these people, which they won’t like. Forty years after 1984, when my father chose to vote against Geraldine Ferraro as the Vice Presidential candidate, I am still pissed off at him. And that wasn’t even the worst thing my father ever did, but when I think about him, the clearest memory I have is that specific time and his actions. Other people who knew him will have other stories, but that’s mine.

I’m not saying all this for you to feel sorry for me. But I do want you to stew in your vote for a while.

At present we’re still allowed to vote for whomever we want to, but I’m saying all this because I can guarantee that there are people in your life who are heartbroken over the results of this election, that will be hurt by the incoming administration and their policies, and just like me, these people are not going to get over this. Your daughters and granddaughters will remember this critical election, and if they are anything like me, they will never forgive you for voting the way you did. And they shouldn’t.

I know, I know, you can’t turn back time. And that’s true, but how we all react going forward can make a difference. I’m sure if I would have confronted my father later on he might not have even remembered what happened in 1984. But it’s often these little things that we think of as inconsequential that mean everything to other people and hurt the most.

It think it will be bad next year, first for immigrants, then women of every race, the poor, and then for everyone else. But, as they say, elections matter. There still may be a chance for us yet, depending on what we do or don’t do going forward.


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