The morning of election day in 2016, Hillary was given a 75% chance of winning. Take nothing for granted.

When I still lived with my dad, every election he would try to nonchalantly tell me not to vote. Presidential elections, midterms, primaries, whatever. "Oh, the weather is so bad today, you should stay inside." "Oh the polling place is going to be so crowded, this election isn't that important, if I were you I wouldn't bother. I doubt you'll find a place to park." Always polite, Always sure I shouldn't bother voting that year.

Every single time I would ask, "Well, are you voting?" And he would have to admit that, yes, he intended to vote.

"Then I'll vote too!" I would reply, polite and cheery and non-aggressively. I would have voted either way, obviously, but I wanted him to know that I was going to vote.

I know at the end of the day all I did was cancel him out, but it was important. And he must have known. Why else would a Baptist preacher dead set on voting insist his adult queer daughter shouldn't do the same.