Tales From the Pantsuit Nation: A Tribute to My Grandfather

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Today, I donned my best pantsuit and cast my vote.

I voted in memory of my grandfather, a minister ordained in the 1930s, who traveled the globe not to impose beliefs, but to understand the perspectives of others. I voted in honor of my grandmother, whose uncle opposed her college aspirations, but whose father ensured she pursued her education through a stipulation in his will. Although she dreamed of becoming an engineer, the university barred her from that path, so she chose mathematics instead. She ultimately became a teacher and administrator, inspiring countless students to embrace their passion for math and science.

I cast my ballot for my mother, who earned her Ph.D. while raising two kids, always encouraging us to think for ourselves and stand our ground. I voted for my father, who championed my mother’s academic and professional journey, never allowing anyone to misidentify her as merely his secretary. He took pride in being her partner in business, empowering my sisters and me to reach for the stars, even the presidency if that’s what we desired.

I voted for my husband, a first-generation immigrant, who also supported Hillary. I voted for my children of diverse backgrounds—my daughter, who seemed indifferent until she calmly challenged a friend’s misguided Trump rhetoric, and my son, who rocks long hair and embraces being mistaken for a girl because, well, girls are fantastic too.

I voted for myself, for love, for the world, and for all of you.

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In summary, I took this opportunity to honor those who came before me, celebrating their struggles and triumphs while asserting my own beliefs and aspirations for the future.