I didn't grow up in a family that talked about politics. I knew that my step-dad's parents were yellow-dog democrats and that my dad and his mom were die-hard republicans. My mom voted for Reagan in 1980, so I figured she and my step-dad were republicans, too (turns out they SO aren't, thank goodness). Beyond that, I didn't think about it much. Dinner table conversation revolved around my parents' work lives and what happened in school that day. After dinner, we played board games or watched television. Outside of the house, our family activities consisted of going to boat shows or cross-country skiing in the winter and fishing or bike riding in the summer. We weren't the kind of family that protested together.

I wouldn't compare my family to the Cleavers, mostly because my mom swore like a sailor, but my childhood was pretty idyllic. The first half of my life was spent in a Midwestern, middle class bubble. I read a lot and was curious about the world, but there wasn't too much in the way of struggle. My mom and I talked a lot, but for the life of me, I can't remember a conversation about politics or about anything except what was happening in my life currently and what would happen in the future. She was pretty focused on my future success and, more importantly, happiness.

The first time I ever voted was in May of 1988. I was 18 years old and a senior in high school. It was the primary and I can't remember who I voted for. I think it was probably for the republicans on the ticket. Since I thought almost everybody in my family was republican, I guess I thought I was too. But then in the summer, as I was preparing to leave for college in a distant state, I was making the rounds, saying good-bye to family and friends. I happened to stop by my step-grandparents' house on the night that Ann Richards gave the keynote speech at the Democratic National Convention. As loyal, lifelong, depression-era, union democrats, they were hanging on her every word, so the good-byes had to wait until the speech was over. So, I watched.

And slowly, as Ann Richards spoke in that slow and delicious drawl of hers, I began to realize something: I agreed with everything she said. I was a democrat. Her words have long since faded from my memory, but the moment has stayed with me.

It was the moment that I knew it wasn't right to take what you could get from this world without giving anything back in return. It was the moment I knew that every person had value and no person should be denied opportunity based on something so arbitrary as the color of their skin or the makeup of their anatomy. It was the moment I knew that I wanted to be a part of making the world a better place.

Twenty years later, my success on that score is mixed. If I have made the world better, I'm not sure I know how, but at least I don't think I've made it worse. And to this day, thanks to Ann Richards and one a-ha moment, I remain committed to progressive ideals and democratic candidates.