My parents voted for Trump.

The thought is hard to swallow, like a dry pill that gets lodged in my esophagus half way down. It isn’t choking me, but I can feel it there, unwelcome and awkward and starting to burn.

But then I think: they raised me to be what I am. They raised me to have a fierce love for democracy and free speech and the country to which I was born. They taught me that all people are created equal and that I can be whatever I wanted to be, even when that meant being an athletically challenged tee-ball player with no interest in baseball.

They taught me to respect the environment and instilled in me the importance of the campsite rule–that we leave our spaces in a better shape than we found them.

They raised me to defend my intellectually disabled sister, and for her sake to always find and befriend the weakest kid on the playground. She, my sister I mean, taught me how to speak for those who couldn’t but also and more importantly how to listen.

They taught me about scripture, and that Jesus said “What you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto me.” They taught me to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. They taught me that “Justice, justice must you pursue.”

My parents didn’t know it, but they were raising a feminist and a fighter. They were what got me to this point, and I feel proud knowing that I’m staying true to such noble values. I hope that I can remind them of what they are.

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