Every election my sneaky parents would utilize "family time" as an excellent opportunity to exercise both their democratic rights, and their kids at the same time, an eight and four year old running along each side of a deserted stroller down to the nearest community hall. My Dad put talkative-me on the desk beside him as he reached for a chained-down blue or black bic pen and explained the space to be a quiet place, one for inside voices. Why? Because it was a place where groups of people came to think, reflect; a place to maybe make a difference. No wonder I thought that hall was a church till I was about ten. As he shuffled the rainbow papers, his face as crumpled in thought as did the expanding pile of forms nearing the door, and he told me I too would get this chance someday, yes, maybe one day when I grew tall enough to see the contents of the desk (what about dwarf voting? saaaad) and could read past pictures of dinosaurs and Famous Five fiction.
This 'waiting' business frustrated me. But Dad I already had enough information to base my decision on (red was my favourite colour, duh) and, so, like no offense, but didn't that make the whole practice incredibly age-ist and thus rigged by adults? That's soo unfair. I must have been an annoying eight-year old, but there's something to be said about a kid who desperately wants a say in the electoral system.
26/11/11 will mark the moment where for the first time my voice will will be counted, my naive youth opinion heard, and most importantly: my little ticked slip of boxed paper recorded amongst the rest of a country's agenda to bear influence on the democratic governing body for the place I call home.
Five days out from a National election and I couldn't give you much more than the spelling of government.
I should be as eager on politics as an eleven year old girl gracing Supre for the first time. I should be as raring to go as someone suited up at a prestigious racetrack about to drive an incredibly powerful and probably fast red car. I should be stuffed with a tirade of overflowing teenage opinion based on propaganda-esque party policies targeting "youth" since I technically still am one. I should be reading up on party policies instead of trying to think of funny reasons why said campaign policies are not, in fact, to be likened to a par-tay.
Today I realised I am an embarrassment.
Today's resolution is that I need to become better educated.
While my LOL count is safe to say, zero, my "like" quota is quite frankly, sickening. If I got a dollar every time I said like, let's just accept it would be safe to say I would be in no correspondence with Studylink. For, like, ever. And neither would any of my friends, or like, their friends.
It's time to get educated, time to read and to sight
information, that the nation, understands to accept a democratic right.
Because let's face it; even when you're overly opinionated and eight-years old with red ribbons in your hair, you're not adorable. You're irritating, cause you're loud and thoughtless and the indecisive guy in the next booth can't choose between going Green or going home to fully embrace apathetic life-living. At the end of election season, if your thoughts are unsubstantiated they lack luster, buster. And nearing my second decade sans any real political banter past the much hyped Tea Pot "scandal", is pretty, well, shocking. "Did you hear about the hidden tapes in the tea pot at John Key and John Bank's tea meeting?" (acceptable..) "Did you find it funny they were both called John…?" (tragic.)
Dumb is never cute. I don't want to be cute and I definitely don't want to be the ex-pat. girl asking the guy next to her reading the NY Times on the subway if NZ is still operating under, what's it called, like um a democracy?
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