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Bright and early this morning, just about as soon as our polls opened, my husband and I jumped into our daughter Olivia’s car set off to vote.
This was Livy’s first ever time to vote in a Presidential election…how fitting that would it be this election, with a woman on the ballot for the highest office in the land. We walked past a gaggle of middle school kids waiting for their day to begin, our kids’ old school which is filled with memories of our three when they still lived at home, and into the big gym with its polished wood floor and pennant decorated walls. We’ve voted here many, many times before, most memorably when we cast our votes for President Obama – twice. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was personal.
Livy went first, and I confess that I almost began to cry watching her step into the voting booth all by herself. In years past, she had always been at my side when I voted – in an infant carrier, then on my hip, and finally by my side. Not this time. This time she had a vote all to herself. That felt deeply personal.
But there was something extra personal about Livy voting for a woman (who just also happens to be the candidate best prepared and suited for the job) in this particular election, with all its misogynistic overtones. We raised three feminists – two daughters, and a son – who were appalled by what they saw and heard from Donald Trump. So, there was great satisfaction in knowing that all three would cast their millennial votes in rejection of his message of hate, and in affirmation of Hillary’s message of hope. And one of them, our Livy, would do so in our company.
I loved her smile when she emerged – this vote was sweet…this time, it’s personal.