They say that in families, politics is thicker than blood, and as an adult I can see that is true of my own. But as a kid, I had no idea what party my parents belonged to, nor did I care. Like most kids, I cared more about issues than partisanship . At least until I got to college, when I first asked my parents which party they supported. And then I got confused

See, we lived in a big house in a nice suburb and went to church regularly, which could make one think we were upper middle class conservatives. But evidence suggested otherwise:

• We went to a hippie school that offered electives such as modern dance and fencing.
• We focused on issues, like the treatment of migrant workers, and how to run a successful boycott.
• My mom grew most of our vegetables in a big garden that took up half of the backyard.
• We bought bushels of other veggies at the farmers market and “put them up” for the winter.
• My grandma made most of our clothes.
• The rest were hand-me-downs passed around by various cousins.
• We had a huge compost pile in our back yard, and the ONLY compost pile in the neighborhood
• For fun in the summer, my mom would organize night crawler hunts whenever she needed to restock her worm farm.
• My mom helped start a town recycling center—and we RECYCLED—in 1976.
• My mother had an “ecology” bumper sticker—the kind where the “o” was a peace sign or a globe or something-- on her Suburban
• On family vacations we went camping.
• My dad grew bean sprouts under the kitchen sink, and made his own yogurt.
• My mom baked bread and made her own granola.

So when imagine my shock and confusion when I learned that we weren’t hippies at all. WE WERE JUST CHEAP.

What does a republican look like?

I had a great bumper sticker on my last car. It read “Republican women make great leaders… you’re following one now”

Even though I live in Southern Maine amongst millions of Kerry, and now Obama stickers, I received relatively few comments about the unusual display of conservatism, and any comment was usually preceded by asking if it was my sticker—as if making sure that someone hadn't put REPUBLICAN GRAFFITI on my car. Admittedly, there were times when, if the asker looked like they might be secreting a rock or some other missile, I simply said that it came with the car when I bought it used. Which is not a lie—it was on the car when I bought it from my mother.

Once, an elderly woman was walking past my drive with her old, graying black lab, and she stopped me and asked if that was my sticker on my car. Confident I could outrun the aged, drooling dog, and not seeing any clubs or rocks in her other hand, I said Yes. It was my sticker, on my car. “Really!” she said—obviously disappointed in my political affiliation “because you don’t look old enough to be republican. “