COLUMN: Childhood losses impacting vote
The presidential election is huge, and it should be, because it is, I mean, a race for the executive branch of the government, but its media coverage and impassioned hooplah make me sick. I am so sick of posters in lawns and bumper stickers on cars and arguments disguised as debates as opinionated people rant about candidates that have bloated egos and irritating agendas.
There is an “Arthur” episode in which Mr. Ratburn’s class holds a mock election for class president. Arthur is running against Muffy, and does not stand a chance, because Muffy’s campaign slogan is something like, “Vote Muffy 4 Muffins,” and who, in their right mind, would refuse a muffin? It is a bribe, but it works. If one of our presidential candidates gave me a muffin, I would vote for him, hands down. To make a long story short, Binky enters the race as a write-in candidate, but not before he shares his views about getting rid of homework, having all-day recess and eating treats in class, which, of course, secures the votes of all of his classmates. Muffy’s muffins do not stand a chance, since Arthur’s classmates are students of spark integrity when it comes to the real issues at hand.
I have participated in a few mock elections myself, and have failed miserably.
Seventh graders in Texas study Texas history during the course of the year, which includes all sorts of fun stuff like the Alamo and Sam Houston and Stephen F. Austin. As my middle school class studied the event of Texas’s annexation into the U.S. in 1845, we contemplated the pros and cons of the decision. My teacher divided the class into two halves. One half of the class was supposed to support the American annexation of Texas, and the other half, to which I was assigned, was supposed to oppose it. We were directed to campaign against each other.
I remember thinking it was an idiotic activity, and it became even more apparently idiotic as my team wilted in the debate against the pro-annexers due to our flimsy, pride-driven argument.
“Umm…” we stammered. “Texans are so cool. We are so independent. We do not need to pay taxes to someone else. Yup. The Republic of Texas represents Texas. Soooo… vote for Texas! Howdy, howdy, howdy.”
And that was the bulk of our argument. My creative posse, perhaps drawing from an anti-drug campaign, made buttons that said: “Just Say No to the U.S.” We wore those sketchily unpatriotic pins all day long in eager anticipation of the social studies election. After our teacher, who was way too enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, counted the results, it was concluded that our class, indeed, despite my team’s efforts, wanted to become a part of the United States of America. That was my first taste of democratic failure.
When I was taking a government class my senior year of high school, my teacher thought it would be amusing and educational to have a mock presidential election. The catch was that every individual had to take upon him or herself the surname “Boring.” I ran as Melissa Boring. It was our duty to spice up the dull name with a peppy speech.
I was outrageous. I totally played toward the demographics of El Paso. “Mi nombre es Melissa Boring!” I shouted with confidence. I danced folklorico and passed out tortillas. “A tortilla in every pot…of soup!” I promised. I had the students in my portable classroom roaring with cheers and whistles and chants of my name. Afterward, I thought it was a done deal; I would be presidente.
But there was still a week more of presentations, and, as it is human nature to be forgetful, I was forgotten. As for the winner, I have a hazy memory that it might have been some little brown-nosed dweeb-face who dressed up like the government teacher, which may have scored him bonus votes from a mysterious source.
These losses may have turned me off from the political process in general, but I still enjoy the freebies that come from playing the game, such as tortillas or buttons or muffins. At any rate, I think that in the upcoming election I will vote for Pedro, because he will make my wildest dreams come true.
Melissa Condie is a junior majoring in music education. Comments can be send to m. condie@aggiemail.usu.edu