Lindsey received her November Marion County election ballot in the mail last week.
“I don’t really care to vote,” Lindsey said when she called her dad. “But I’m trying to do the right thing.”
John was surprised Lindsey received a ballot for the upcoming election. In Oregon, we vote by mail, and the last time our daughter marked a ballot, she lived at a different address.
Way back then, and out of the blue, Lindsey called our house.
I want to vote for BarackObama,” she had said, asking us how to do that. John said she’d have to register first, and he’d help her do it if she wanted.
“Yes,” she’d said. “Because I want to vote for BarackObama.” She never said this candidate’s name without using both his first and last names together without a pause, like it was one word instead of two. And she never fully explained why she wanted to vote for this man.
When our two children lived in our household, John and I always said it was a privilege and a duty to vote.
“If you don’t vote, you shouldn’t complain,” I’d said. And figuring I just might want to complain, I always voted.
When Lindsey and Michael were growing up, John and I occasionally talked about important ballot measures and candidates during our evening meal. But we didn’t think Lindsey was listening.
After our girl married and moved, we didn’t update her voter’s registration with her new address. But last Friday, she received a ballot in the mail.
“I need help,” Lindsey told John. “Will you help me fill it out?”
“Of course,” John said. He drove to Lindsey’s house with the voter’s pamphlet and painstakingly explained the issues to our daughter. In the end, Lindsey marked and signed her ballot. And John mailed it for her.
Today I interviewed my daughter, asking if she was OK with me sharing who she picked and why she voted the way she did on a few of the more popular local issues.
“Of course,” she said, sounding a lot like her dad.
For Silverton mayor, Lindsey voted for Rick Lewis.
“I’ll always be Stu’s friend, but someone else in our town needs a chance,” Lindsey said, referring to our current transgender mayor.
“So why did you vote for Lewis?” I asked.
“He used to be a policeman and the police are my friends,” she said. “Well most police are anyway. There are a few that scare me.”
Lindsey said yes to the school bond.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s old, it’s unhealthy, and it’s falling apart,” she said, talking about Eugene Field, the grade school Lindsey and Michael both attended. “I’ve been in the place and walked down the halls. It crowded,” she continued, listing several more valid reasons.
During her explanation, Lindsey told me she’d always wanted to have ten kids herself.
“That’s a lot of kids,” she said, nodding in agreement with me after I said the same thing. “But I didn’t want to give my disability to any of my kids. Even though I can’t have kids, I can vote for the school. I help pay for school supplies for my sponsor kid too.” My daughter talked about the twelve dollars she sends to Children International every month that’s designated for a girl living in the Philippines. Lindsey added that she really likes children and that when she was a youngster, she loved going to school. “I always got up every morning at five-thirty to get ready so I wouldn’t be late. I think the kids should have a new school.”
“What about the legalizing marijuana issue?” I asked.
“That’s a drug, Mom. I hope you know that.”
I nodded, acknowledging that I did.
“It’s a big no-no,” she said. “To do drugs. It’s another bad thing for people. I’m not doing them because drugs can kill people.”
The lecture Lindsey gave me on marijuana made me realize she’d paid attention in school when teachers taught the Just Say No campaign.
“Do you think people with disabilities and/or special needs should vote?” I asked, hoping for some golden nugget to share.
“It’s their choice if they want to vote,” Lindsey said. “But I’m proud of me for doing it.”
My first book will be coming out September 26, 2017. If you are interested in learning more about Loving Lindsey: Raising a Daughter with Special Needs, please click here.
