I won't talk about politics.
I don't mean I won't talk about politics publicly, online, on Facebook, Twitter, with friends, out at dinner...I mean I don't talk about politics...ever. I don't discuss things with my husband, my kids, his parents, anyone. It's a touchy subject.
The topic comes up and the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Fear and terror take over. My stomach churns, my skin crawls. I want to run far away and hope and pray no one will ask my opinion. I want to be accepted, liked, not hated for my...politics.
I grew up in the house-of-the-one-track-mind-and-you-dare-not-have-your-own-opinion-because-the-one-being-yelled-constantly-is-the-only-good-one. Dare to share a varying view and you were ostracized, belittled, shunned.
I don't speak of my politics.
My husband, this lovely man, understands. He could care less about cramming his opinion down my throat when it comes to which box to check in November. We have a beautiful understanding that goes like this: when election day arrives I remind him to go vote. We both do, separately, end of discussion.
At this point the ones who want to judge are squirming with thoughts like, "What about your kids?! Don't you care to educate them?!" The answer: Of course. When they have questions, I respond, and try my best to let them formulate their own opinions. But while I am quite content that I will not make some of the same mistakes of the past, I fully accept that I am destined to make new ones. Such is the awakening of the honest parent.