I feel so lucky. Lucky to grow up in the generation I am. The generation that doesn’t care what adults think about them, or what others will say. We are kind to each other. So, when I look at our older generations—our parents, grandparents—and see how they treat people who don’t share the same beliefs as them, it fascinates me. They hate when someone doesn’t agree with them; they get offended if someone mentions something they don’t believe in, and they blame the younger generation for the horrible changes in society. 

And this fascinates me because these are the people who raised us. These people taught us to treat others the way we want to be treated, yet they are hypocrites. Our parents have told us to respect everyone, never make fun of someone for their beliefs; but they lie. They say my generation is ruining everything. And one of the biggest issues they have with us is voting.

I can’t blame them for wanting us to be more involved. My generation has our heads in the sand, so when a new election arises and we look at the candidates, our options for new leaders, we disregard them. And I don’t think that’s our fault. The candidates are members of a generation yelling at us to vote like we are a child who hasn’t cleaned their room. And when our top candidates to run the United States are between a woman who has had more scandals than anyone can keep track of and a man who believes women are objects, we understand having those people as leaders of a country is wrong. The generation before us taught us that. Which is why they fascinate me. They can flip so quickly between teaching and punishing, helping and hurting.

So, what does my vote mean to me?

It means, I don’t care enough to answer.