There comes a time in life when you are walking along, carrying on conversations, discussing serious subjects with people, seemingly feeling pretty confident about your thought processes and your point of views; and then, it just takes one person to put you back into your place. Make you think a little harder about something you said, and very possibly, just possibly, admit you could have been wrong.
This election year has people disenchanted, disappointed, unbelievably angry, and some, ready to physically fight. It has been one of the most volatile and downright rude and outspoken elections I have personally been witness to yet.
But it has also been one of the most passionate, bare-bones loyal, and in-it-to-win-it elections that I have ever seen as well. The young people that have been inspired to come out, to march, to vote, to carry signs, and stand there and cry – as their prospective elective is beaten and out-numbered – is a truly inspiring sight to witness.
I made the mistake of sorts on a Face Book post a week or two ago. I have truly tried not to put myself and my particular opinions out there, because number one, nobody really cares, and number two, it always seems to lead to a free-for-all before it’s over with.
At any rate, during the Democratic National Convention (and I watched both conventions – I like to be informed) I watched as everyone waited with bated breath to see if Bernie Sanders would truly graciously concede, and I also watched as groups of his supporters threatened to not go down as easily should he do just that.
Many were saying that they refused to shift and vote for Hillary Clinton, and I made the statement that if they were true Democrats, they needed to get on board. Quit thinking about voting for the Green Party, or worse, no party at all, because every “stray” vote is a vote toward the Republican Party, and in my mind that was the last thing they wanted to happen.
Well you know, I was quickly set-straight by some very young and passionate moral compasses about why their “stray” votes were not to be considered as wasted votes. I was reminded very quickly, just how fresh-minded and liberating 20 something year old’s can be. I was reminded of when I was 21 years old and I believed we could change the world, could make a difference, and that any vote for a decent human being was a vote in the name of justice and all that was good.
My hope is that these Millennial’s can show us all a thing or two about discrimination, love for all, the real meaning of Black Lives Matter, that every Muslim is not a terrorist, and that this world cannot survive within the sheath of hate that seems to be covering us now.
My hope is that they are all right, and that there is hope left in this world. And I hope, truly hope, that I am just old, disillusioned, tired, worried, and wrong. I really, really want to be wrong.