Dear Aaron,

Late in the day on October 30, 2004, labor pains for your impending birth began. That evening, which was beggar’s night in Kettering, I sat on the front stoop, clutching my tightening belly as I passed out candy to the neighborhood children. The pains had been strong enough to send me to the hospital earlier in the day but not strong enough to keep me there. “You have a long road ahead of you,” the hospital staff had said. So it wasn’t until the next day, after Grandma Consolino arrived to take care of your sisters and my contractions were less than five minutes apart, that we returned to the hospital.

Long story short, you made your way into the world at 2:04 a.m. on Monday, November 1, 2004, and the next day was Election Day. (As you know, I am a planner, which meant that I’d already sent my absentee ballot in, just in case you arrived before your due date of November 15.) So on November 2, I sat in the hospital room, urging you to latch onto my breast as I watched the election results roll in.

You probably remember that 2004 was the year Bush defeated Kerry. Twenty years ago, politics was important to me, but I wasn’t as informed or interested as I am now. Having three kids under three meant diapers and portable potties and snacks and tears and stuffed animals filled my days. I was more worried about wipes and whining than who was in the White House, more concerned with vaccines than voting machines. Part of my nonchalance was because I trusted our nation to do what was right. I trusted the three branches of government to check one another. I trusted authority to place the good of the people over their party. Even though my preferred candidate didn’t win that day, I wasn’t scared.

Twenty years on, I can’t say the same thing, honey. We’re at a point in our lives unlike anything I’ve experienced, and I’m worried enough to cover politics in my birthday letter to you. (And when I say worried, what I really mean is terrified.) Your father and I have raised you to know what’s right and wrong, to know that you have privilege, to know that sometimes—and this seems to be happening more often now—you need to speak up for those whose voices have been silenced. And so on this celebration of you turning twenty (What? How? When?) and on a day that we concentrate on you, I’m asking you not to think of yourself.

I’m asking you to work on making the world a better, safer, more friendly place for everyone. Think of your friends, your sisters, your family members, your neighbors. Think of the folks who don’t have as much as you and those who have more. Think of the freedoms you now have and those you want for everyone, not only those who look like you. Voting for a candidate who abides by the rules, respects the constitution, and holds a vision is one step, but I encourage you to find a way to make a positive difference on a daily basis.

(Remember, just like weightlifting produces the best results with consistent work, so, too, should we be trying to make a difference consistently.)

Those differences don’t need to be big. Several weeks ago, your father presented his point of view to a neighbor, who said, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Last week, I spoke to a young woman who said she really didn’t want to vote. When she revealed what issue was most concerning to her, I informed her of which candidate stood for that issue. “You can’t protect that freedom if you don’t make your voice heard.” Her reply? “Hmm. You’re right.”

I don’t need to be right, but I do want for something more in this world. I want positivity and joy and happiness and freedom. I want people helping people because it’s the right thing to do. I want people to have access to healthcare and education, food and shelter. I want life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all, and I don’t want one group’s religion to call shots for the whole country. You want this, too, which means you need to commit to making a difference.

I’m not asking you to put physics and math and weightlifting aside. I’m just asking you to make room in your life for something more. The earlier, the better (I waited a little too late, I think), and while you’re at it, grab a few of your friends. If anyone can make bring about change, it’s you and your people. You’re smart, gregarious, and you have fantastic ideas. All you have to do is put a little effort in, and I think you’ll reap the rewards.

Almost a week ago, Vice President Kamala Harris said in her closing speech, “One week from today, you will have the chance to make a decision that directly impacts your life, the life of your family, and the future of this country we love, [I]t will probably be the most important vote you ever cast. And this election is more just than a choice between two parties and two different candidates. It is a choice about whether we have a country rooted in freedom for every American or ruled by chaos and division.”

In 2004, I never would have guessed we’d see the “chaos and division” that we do today. But we do. And closing our eyes and burying our heads will do nothing to staunch it. But you, Aaron? From the moment you came into our lives I knew that you were destined to do great things. Now’s the time.

Your birthday will always be entwined with Election Day, and for that, I’m sorry. (Researchers say that the baby signals the mom when it’s ready, so really, I should be blaming you!) My hope is that next year, we won’t be bemoaning anything. That we, as a country, will have fought to save democracy and won. That I can go back to my sappy birthday letters that always seem to say the same thing. I’d give anything to be in that place again.

Welcome to a new decade! I love you more than you’ll ever know, and I’m proud to call you my son.

Love,
Mom

Image of coin by H. B. from Pixabay.com.