Typical form

This morning I met Ashwin Madia. He and David Dillon (Paulson was unavailable) were participating in a debate at school (don't ask how, I don't know) and I brought my third hour public speaking class to watch and listen.

Madia was standing by the door as we walked in and it would have been awkward for me to take the easy way out and not say anything to him, so I smiled, walked right up to him and started strong:

"Hi. I'm Rachel Tholen and you have my vote."

Then, in typical form, as I've done time and time again when meeting people for the first time who I deem significantly more important than me (that's pretty much everyone), I started talking. Talking nonsensically. Talking quickly. Talking too much. Saying things about how I appreciated his "service to the country" and how I really was hopeful for the election, etc, etc, etc, and painfully, etc.

To his credit, he was very nice to me. Just lots of nodding and smiling and thank yous.

It would have been easier to play it off if one of my seniors hadn't been standing next to me the whole time witnessing this embarrassing habit of mine. As I turned to tell him that we should never speak of this encounter again, he said, "Real smooth, Tholen. Real smooth."

Ugh. Thanks, kid.

But what you really should know is that I was impressed with both Madia and Dillon. I thought they did a nice job of accommodating for their audience--they didn't patronize the kids, but they didn't speak over their heads either. They both talked about the importance of getting involved, in paying attention, in caring about what happens to the country, about youth bearing the brunt tomorrow of the decisions made today. I thought they were smart. I thought they were good. I thought, again, that the world might feel like a different place after Tuesday, and how great that would be.