“Mom, what’s abortion?”
I was listening to a debate on the radio about abortion restrictions in Kansas while my eight-year-old daughter sat drawing nearby, taking in the discussion’s heated tone.
As evenly as possible, I explained the abortion process: A pregnant woman does not want to have a baby, so a doctor removes the fetus. My daughter gasped in revulsion and put down her red pencil.
I told her that I support a woman’s right to choose, but that there are many different perspectives on the issue: Some people believe it is right only at a certain time during the pregnancy; others think that it’s never right, or only appropriate in what I nebulously called “bad situations.” Not wanting to bring up the specter of rape, I left bad situations at “no money for diapers and food,” or in cases where a pregnancy could hurt the woman.
She sat silently before saying, “Well, I think it’s horrible. They could give the baby away to somebody who wants to adopt it.” Some pregnant women do put their babies up for adoption, I assured her, and some also change their mind and keep their babies. But other women feel differently and want the right to control their bodies.
She looked at me and the radio suspiciously, as if we were in cahoots in this whole fetus-removing business. “Well, I understand, but I don’t like it. For me, I mean,” she said.
I was filled with pride—not so much for the content of her opinion but for the way she’d listened to both sides and taken a position that didn’t just reflect mine.
Of course, right now, being on opposite sides of an issue is relatively easy—for both of us. She doesn’t protest at clinics, doesn’t stay up late weeping over a holocaust of souls. Actions like those would make me mighty uncomfortable. After all, as a fifteen-year-old, I’d spent a day’s wages on a T-shirt that read “U.S. Out of My Uterus” in big red lettering printed over a Day-Glo blue-purple womb and ovaries.
My opinion hasn’t changed much since then. I was proud of my first political T-shirt, proud that I’d been able to buy it and wear it without my mother (a Democrat) or stepfather (Republican) passing judgment, other than pointing out that the shirt, like the rest of my clothing, was way too baggy.
But what if, unlike me, my daughter were to live in her parents’ political shadow and never learned to make up her own mind? If she were easily swayed by me, she’d be easily swayed by others, too—like husbands or demagogues. You can’t feed kids a political POV without sacrificing a fundamental American ideal: Our free, democratic society is based on a foundation of critical, independent thinkers.
So I feel uneasy when I see a toddler dressed in a political T-shirt, or involved in a pro-life or pro-choice rally. Many of us say we’ll let our children make their own choices in life, from the clothing they’ll wear to the church they’ll attend. From Bush-bashing to Hillary-baiting, it’s easy to overlook how we fall into the trap of indoctrinating the kids, even without meaning to.
But I believe we should try. As a former librarian married to a former national debate champion, I like rousing discussions around the house. When our daughter was a toddler, we pointed out the pros and cons of products advertised on TV.
Now, when controversial initiatives are on the ballot, we read through the voter’s guide with our daughter and discuss the statements in favor and in opposition. How will these initiatives affect us and how will they affect our friends?
Children want us to divide the world into black and white, blue and red, right and wrong. I’d rather share the shades of grey and purple and present multiple viewpoints—even when it’s something I feel strongly about, such as the Iraq war or abortion rights. Especially then.
Indoctrinating children is never a sure thing. The strait-laced parents of the ’50s raised a liberal ’60s generation, which then produced my peers, Gen X, one of the most politically indolent groups in history. Although young children want to make us happy by echoing our viewpoints, we have less control than we’d like to believe—particularly during the natural rebellion of adolescence and adulthood. I think of my friends who went to anti-nuke rallies as tots, parroting their parents’ point of view—then grew into hawkish Republicans later on.
Critical thinking and analytical rigor, however, are fundamental skills that can be passed on. They’re a far safer bet than gambling on lectures and rallies. The kids will arrive at their own conclusions at some point anyway, so why not give them the tools to do so effectively?
Maybe what we’re most afraid of is that our children will reject our fundamental values by taking another political path. It would break our hearts, we believe. But if I can’t model tolerance and intellectual freedom for my child, how can I expect her to demonstrate those in the real world?
My daughter is turning out to be an interesting creature, not yet identified in any field guide to the political landscape: a vegetarian, pro-life, environmentally concerned Obama-supporter, who hates paying taxes on her Pokemon cards. I, on the other hand, am a staunchly pro-choice, fish-eating undecided. And I don’t mind paying taxes. Don’t love it, but don’t mind either.
This election year, we’ll go to rallies for both candidates, blue and red. We’ll weigh their standpoints, and we’ll each make a decision—for ourselves.
Discuss the debate
