When I turned 18, I registered to vote as a Republican. Not because of any deeply ingrained political leanings; I knew very little about politics back then. My parents were Republicans, and so was Alex P. Keaton. That was good enough for me.
I cast my first-ever vote for president for George H.W. Bush. Senior, I should point out—the thousand-points-of-light, skydiving-octogenarian, not the bumbling idiot of a son. Four years later, I had come to realize my political ideology aligned with the Democratic party and Clinton got my vote. I’ve been proudly liberal ever since.
By the way, boy howdy do I miss that bumbling idiot of a son. At least we didn’t have to worry about the very fabric of democracy being torn asunder. Those were the days, huh?
I don’t shove my politics down anybody’s throat. You won’t change my mind, I won’t change yours, and arguing about it only infuriates us both. It’s also why I’d never bother putting a bumper sticker like this on my car, though I personally know somebody who did. And it kind of made me love him a little, in a very manly, brotherly sort of way.
Was it hard not to roll down my window and shout something obscene at the assembly of Trump supporters waving flags and spewing their offensive bullshit rhetoric I passed on the drive home this evening? Not gonna lie: yeah. And Tara absolutely would have. But let ’em have their views, however misguided. I know they’d say the same about me.
Ain’t America great?
On a lighter note, it reached 78º this afternoon. Whaat?!
Still not sure if I’m writing every day this month…