Here’s a true truth for you, friends: I’ve never put a political sign in my yard.
Not once in the 26 years I’ve been eligible to vote.
Not a yard sign. Not a bumper sticker on my car. Not a pin on my person.
It wasn’t like I had a problem with people who did. They’re passionate, I thought. Outspoken. And good for them!
But me? No. Certainly not. Those outward declarations of political support weren’t for me. I, after all, have friends and family on both sides of the political aisle. The need to be polite and ruffle no feathers exempted me. Right? That was the rule in my tiny, white, evangelical world, anyway. Politeness first, which folks around here call “civility.” I’m not sure when civility was redefined as silence, but it was definitely before my time. I inherited the system. I’m not to blame. (Says the white, suburban girl with systemically granted power. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) ...