The year that I was fourteen, my dad decided to run for state office.  We’d never been an actively political family (although my parents met while working on their high school teacher’s campaign for city council) but Dad felt called to run, so he did.

The whole summer was spent licking envelopes, stuffing envelopes, highlighting long lists of voters (and cross-checking them against each other) and doing all sorts of clerical tasks involved in sending out multiple large direct mailings and organizing Dad’s door-to-door lists.   One thing that I didn’t have, at fourteen, was an unrestricted driver’s license.  So I was matched up with this sixteen-year-old that I barely knew from junior high school, and who this blog now knows as Starbuck.

We quickly found that we had a lot in common, and spent hours driving around town running errands for people, putting up yard signs, passing out bumper stickers, and singing loudly (and probably off-key) to the latest Steven Curtis Chapman album.

Now, 15 years later, Starbuck has been a factor in my life longer than she wasn’t, and we still occasionally sing in the car, loud and off-key.

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