We moved to an affluent area of Georgia when I was in the 7th grade.
Let me just be clear about something: my mom worked very, very hard to give me all the things I could ever need. She taught me how to be fair, how to forgive people, how to be sarcastic, how to be empathetic, how to give even when I don’t have much… but the truth is that we didn’t have a lot of money after the move in 7th grade.
Despite the innumerable invaluable things my mom gave me, she couldn’t give me an Abercrombie wardrobe or a brand new car when I turned 16 or a designer purse. She *did* keep our power and water on and fed us and kept us safe. You can decide what’s more important there.
Anyway, I was in a complete state of shock at the behavior and actions and attitudes of the upper crest kids that sat next to me in class in my new middle school. They had expensive clothes and shoes and got their hair and nails done and lived in large houses and had boats and so on and so on.
To be fair, I was not very girly in 7th grade; I preferred to wear large t shirts and jeans or gym shorts, and I rarely brushed my hair, and I certainly didn’t wear makeup or perfume or anything like that. But I felt pretty comfortable with myself (thanks, mom) until I started at my new middle school.
Kids there were… so mean. They made fun of me for everything. For my haircut, for my shoes, for my clothes. They made fun of the way I talked and our family car and my book bag. I had never dealt with this type of person before and I cried a lot in the car and on the bus after school.
I’m not saying I was some poor victim of an intense bullying campaign. What I’m saying is that I was not mentally prepared to enter a social environment in which I did not garner any respect. I had never, ever dealt with this type of collective arrogance and self-importance and it hit me hard. I just wasn’t ready for it. (Thanks, Montevallo, for the unrealistic expectations! There certainly is something to be said about the wonderful impact of a small, southern town.)
So there was one guy in particular, and although I remember his name, I won’t share it, because maybe he is different now (I bet he isn’t) that took some strange sort of joy in making fun of me. He constantly called attention to our Home Economics class and announced, in front of everyone, that I was fat and that I wore the same clothes every day.
Like, when the teacher wasn’t in the room, which happened a lot, he would scream out until everyone quieted down and announce that I was a loser.
Ya’ll, he did this anytime he could. He would switch it up from just a regular you’re fat to you need Jenny Craig but basically he ran his mouth every single day while I was in that class. Most of the class would laugh at me and a select few would come sit next to me afterward and talk to me and that’s how my days went in that class.
I generally responded with a sarcastic Thanks! or I said nothing. What was the point? He was loud and obnoxious and mean.
The sister told me once that I should be very careful in getting into a verbal fight with guys, because guys have different rules than girls, and I would get my feelings hurt. So I stayed mostly silent and he remained loud and obnoxious and hateful and ignorant.
Why am I saying all this?
Because every time Donald Trump opens his mouth I am reminded of that loud, obnoxious, hateful, and ignorant 7th grade boy and for that I could never take him seriously.
Trump is an immature, name-calling “politician” who is not capable of leading this broken country down any path that would be for the better. I do not want a loud-mouthed bully who makes fun of women and disabled people and who ostracizes entire religions and groups of people to be my leader.
Just because someone is yelling the loudest doesn’t mean they are right. Just because that guy in 7th grade talked over our class to tell everyone I was a loser didn’t make him correct.
I understand the need for change in terms of our government; what we’ve got going on now isn’t working.
My political views do not align with Donald Trump. That’s a pretty solid reason not to vote for someone. That’s the main reason why I wouldn’t vote for him, obviously.
But even if I did somehow agree with something he said (I won’t) there’s a zero percent chance I will vote for Donald Trump, in any capacity, because, just like my mom told me about that boy in 7th grade, some people just aren’t good people.
PS: The Queen herself agrees.