For my sons

On voting as a parent of tiny boys who hear everything

A few days ago, Michelle Obama gave one of the most galvanizing speeches of this election cycle. She spoke directly to “the men who love us” in a clear and persuasive and necessarily graphic way that laid out what a Trump presidency would mean for women’s health outcomes.

“Your daughter could be the one too terrified to call the doctor if she’s bleeding during an unexpected pregnancy.

Your niece could be the one miscarrying in her bathtub after the hospital turned her away.”

Her speech moved me to tears and solidified my plan to knock on doors in Pennsylvania this weekend. There is a straightforward imperative to vote for daughters and nieces. I am absolutely voting for my niece and my cousin’s daughters and my friends’ daughters and my (LORD WILLING FOR THE SAKE OF ALL MY EARRINGS AND HANDBAGS ETC.) future granddaughters who will hopefully grow up in a country that recognizes their bodies as their own.

When I filled in the bubble for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz on my mail-in ballot last week, I thought about my baby niece. I saw her as a scared teenager and it brought me to tears at the kitchen table.

And when I dropped off the envelope, I took my son.

As the mother of two tiny male children, I am voting for my sons.

Donald Trump and his Project 2025 agenda are an immediate threat to a generation of women. Full stop. And, insidiously, his election would usher in a horrifying worst-case-scenario for every young boy forming a sense of selfhood in this country.

To elect Donald Trump is to give the highest seal of approval to the behavior that I, as a parent and a human, fear most. It’s to sanctify a cheater and a liar and a bully and a bigot. His election would mean any lesson I teach and any example we set in our house would stand in contrast to who’s sitting at the head of state.

Every day during the formative years of their lives, my sons will watch as the most powerful man in the world elbows his way to the front of G8 photo ops, embraces murderous dictators, and strips away the rights of the weak while protecting the absurdly wealthy. He is uninterested in learning. He is uninterested in listening to other people. When he disagrees with someone, he insults them and gives them a nickname.

This goes beyond churlishness and bullying.

For me, this is ultimately about a rapist.

It cannot be said loudly enough even if half the country doesn’t seem to mind: Donald Trump has been convicted of rape. Beyond the E. Jean Carroll verdict, as of this writing, twenty seven women have accused him of sexual misconduct. In her sworn testimony during divorce proceedings, Ivana Trump accused her then-husband of yanking out a handful of her hair and raping her after she commented on his hair-implant surgery. When she died he buried her in the back hole of his New Jersey golf course.

A child watching this man deliver the State of the Union can only infer there are no consequences for this behavior. And this behavior is how you win.

There will be boys who grow up under a Trump presidency who become teenagers in high school and men in dorms. There will be boys who watch their fathers and uncles and, maddeningly, mothers cheer for a man who sees women as objects to dehumanize in every way imaginable.

I am voting for Kamala Harris for my nieces, and I am voting against Donald Trump for my sons.

For the sake of everyone, may he resoundingly lose.