Spirits of women past bring us to a surprise first

First sonogram. First delivery. First baby in your arms. From the moment we intellectualize that we’re parents an 18-year parade of firsts begins.

But, when they head to college, the parade ends. Last August, our oldest, Bekah, indulged me in one last first day of school porch-picture before she drove off to her first college class. Until graduation or grandbabies, her firsts were done for a while.

I was OK with that; we had had a good run. She was my trailblazing child — the recipient of our theoretical parenting plans; the recipient of our “theory wrong, now wing it” actions.

She taught us how to be parents.

But her firsts were done…

… until I realized that this presidential election is her first as a voter. When our own state’s primary day came I had a (short) debate with myself: This is an adult milestone and adults don’t take their mommies along for milestones. It’s the third rule of adult club.

But she’s currently a commuter student, still residing at home. Maybe?

“Bekah, are you voting today?” I asked.

“Heck, yeah!” she said, enthusiastically.

Rule three be damned.

“Do you want to, maybe, go together?” I asked.

“Sure!”

Be cool, Susan.

I squealed. “Yes! Yay!”

Internal Susan shook her head, “So much for cool.”

But External Susan didn’t care, she gushed. The thrill wasn’t only that I was a mom getting to see her kid vote. It ran deeper. Civic duty and privilege but also a way to honor the long-gone women who worked to give us that right.

When Bekah and I walked into our polling place, we were powered by women like Susan B. Anthony, Lucretia Mott, Matilda Jocelyn Gage, and Alice Paul. I was even wearing a T-shirt with a quote from Elizabeth Cady Stanton, writer of the words that would eventually become the 19^th Amendment, which legally acknowledged a woman’s right to vote.

I have a special fondness for Elizabeth Cady Stanton. A girl-crush, if you will. Not only was she bold and brilliant, but Mrs. Stanton had a wisenheimer side to her.

For instance: When asked if she thought girls had the physique necessary for the rigor of college course work, she said, “I would like to see you take 1,300 young men and lace them up and hang 10 to 20 pounds weight of clothes to their waists, perch them upon 3-inch heels, cover their heads with ripples, chignons…and stick 10,000 hair pins into their scalps. If they can stand all this they will stand a little Latin and Greek.”

But I didn’t mention the spirits of suffragists that lined the walkway into our polling place. I only proudly beamed as I gave Betty, the very kind election volunteer, my license, signed my name, got my ballot and walked to the private-ish tables.

And then, for her very first time, Bekah did all that, too.

Together we walked to the ballot box. Mine was sucked in first, then hers; we grabbed the Must Have accessory and slapped that I Voted sticker to our shirts.

I didn’t want Uncool Susan to take control; didn’t want to say something corny about Bekah being there by the power of history. But I did want to know what she was thinking after she was part of the process.

I prepared for adulty, first-new-experience wisdom and insight; I waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.

“Wow!” She said genuinely surprised. “Who knew that there was real-world applications for all those fill-in-the-bubble tests I took in school?”

Elizabeth Cady Stanton would have been proud.

I hope.

And a very happy Women’s History Month to all.

This story was originally published March 24, 2016 at 3:00 PM with the headline "Spirits of women past bring us to a surprise first."