Last week, I watched the presidential debate with my daughter. What surprises me is that it was the first time this has happened. I have five daughters, who have been at least somewhat aware of politics for twenty-three years. But we never shared that experience together. 

 

Two of them went to Philly to hear Michelle Obama speak, and I truly wish I could go back in time to ask if I could come, too. But I was at home putting six year olds to bed, though I remember being impressed that these young women were informed enough to know it was happening. I was fairly clueless about national affairs back then, which sounds cushy compared to the overload of recent times. 

 

I did invite a couple of my daughters to watch Iron Jawed Angels with me, which told the awful details of women being granted a voice at all. I think it is time to rewatch that chapter of herstory. 

 

My mother cared deeply about politics. She tried to instill this love in me, and I occasionally sat through parts of speeches with her. Mom was riveted. I kept checking the time. My mother understood the fragility of democracy, and held tightly to her ballot. I don't recall the same devotion from my father. Maybe when you have no fear of it being revoked, you are less protective. 

 

When I cast my vote for a qualified woman in a few weeks, I will drive there in the car I named for my mother, Midge. She would like that.