{Originally posted at Attack of the Redneck Mommy}

Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of voting and exercising your civic duty upon my impressionable mind. They made a big deal of elections and when I finally turned 18 and could cast my first ballot, they drove me to the voting station and proudly watched as I marked my very first X.

I don’t remember who I voted for but I remember thinking that it was my very first adult responsibility and I was proud of myself for participating in our democratic elections.

My party lost. But that didn’t matter to me; all that mattered was the fact I voted. My voice was heard. It may have helped if I hadn’t voted for the Marijuana party, but hey, I was 18.

After my parents had voted I remember asking them whom they had voted for. They refused to tell me because they didn’t want to influence my ideologies and they wanted me to make my own informed decision without any influence from them.

It didn’t matter how much I wheedled and needled them, they weren’t going to spill the beans. To this day, I still have no idea who they support but I’m fairly confident it isn’t the dope smokers. Just a hunch.

I’m now a bit of an election hound. I love politics. Not enough to consider tossing my hat into the ring, but enough to soak up every bit of election trivia I can get my mitts on and suck it up like a sponge. I only wish Canadian politics was half as feisty as those Yankee elections.

But we Canucks are a quieter breed. We’re still a dirty people; we just tend to keep it in the bedroom and out of the elections. Sooo boring. Mind you, after taking a look at our past and current leaders, I can only offer a prayer of thanks. I really don’t want to be imagining any of them getting busy on a blue dress. Ew.

Unlike my parents, there is much screaming and yelling civil debate about politics in our home. Boo has a wildly different political ideology than I do. If it were up to him, the world would all be doing a stiff legged march with a pert salute, as all bowed to his iron will. If it were left to me, well, let’s just say we’d all be seeing rainbows and unicorns and having a good time. Wink, wink.

Originally published on Bang the Drum

This has been my theme since last week when I attended the funeral of our friends’ daughter, a bright shining star who suffered from Cystic Fibrosis, diagnosed at age two. I talk at length about her on Newsgang (8/20), so I won’t go into too much detail here.

What I took away from the funeral of a girl who managed to live with a debilitating illness yet still graduate with honors from USC, get her masters in Montreal, and be weeks away from her doctorate at Penn State while traveling and speaking as much as she could is that she did not let one day pass without doing every single thing she could to reach her goals and did not allow herself the luxury of being distracted with anything that could bog her down, whether breathing treatments or self-pity.

She was remarkable. And inspiring. Even though I knew her, had seen her every week, worked alongside her for a couple of years, I didn’t know her at all.

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