What my daughter said when we rewatched Sound of Music the night after the election and what it taught me

On election day, I was attempting to busy myself with mundane tasks. This was not my first rodeo, and I knew that burying myself in the early afternoon commentary was only going to fill me with anxiety. Instead of falling into that age-old trap, I did everyday things like getting a haircut and walking aimlessly around the mall for an hour before making the trek back to my house. Even the journey home was laced with additional side quests like stopping by an antique store to peruse the memories of dead people. When I finally entered the house, I found my ten-year-old plopped in front of the television. Instead of watching Pokemon, he was cozied up on the couch watching David Muir on ABC, giving early afternoon election commentary, the very kind of thing I was hoping to avoid.

The very first election that I remember, I had much closer seats to the action. I was sixteen years old and living in the sunburns of Nashville. A few of my friends were heading to the War Memorial Plaza with their school group and I was invited to come along. We watched on big screens as election results rolled in. I remember a video of Tommy Lee Jones playing, and then there was a notable shift in tone. Growing up in a conservative household, It would be years before I was able to fully unpack the reality of what I had witnessed that night. However, that night stuck with me well into adulthood and informed how I chose to concern myself on all future election nights; pace yourself.

“It’s election day!” my son exclaimed excitedly as I made my way through the door. Do you want to watch it with me?”

Instead of telling him stories of regaling my children, yet again, with my story of Bush v. Gore, I sat down on the couch with my son and answered his questions about what was happening, how votes are countered, and when we should expect answers. My oldest daughter, who is nineteen, had joined us. This was her first election where she was allowed to vote and she had done so with such pride. However, as the night began to drag on, and my phone started to go off the hook, I had flashbacks of that night waiting for Al Gore to emerge. Missing from the equation was my thirteen-year-old daughter, who seemed rather uninterested in the rest of us being armchair statesmen.

I sent my son to bed shortly after midnight, promising to wake him up if “Anything else interesting happens tonight.”

I stared at the television screen as I heard David Muir say, “The probability of a comeback has severely dwindled.”

The Trump Motorcade began to make its way for a premature, albeit not incorrect this time, declaration of victory. As promised, I called the children downstairs. This time, even my thirteen-year-old joined. The tone of the questions suddenly shifted about what the future would look like under a Trump presidency… again.

Long after the children had finally gone to sleep, I sat there in the glow of the television. In many ways, I felt like a failure. I had spent the better part of a decade warning about the rise of Christian Nationalism and Fascism. I had written countless papers and spoken on the subject during two national tours, and it was the subject of multiple books I had penned. Yet, in spite of all this work, not just by me but so many other activists had seemingly fallen flat. It seemed that, just like my thirteen-year-old, they were uninterested in politics and would rather hide in their rooms than face what was lying before us all, whether we were paying attention or not.

The next evening, I watched The Sound of Music with all three of my kids. At some point, I looked over to find my thirteen-year-old engrossed in her phone. I asked her to pay attention, to which she shot back, “I am,” without ever even looking up at me. Some battles, I thought, are just not worth fighting.

The next day, late in the evening, my thirteen-year-old sent me a message that said, “I wrote something, but I don’t know if I like it.” Here is the unedited version of what she wrote:

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The 5th of November, 2024… was one the most feared days as it drew closer, people were begging any they could get to vote. No matter who they chose, it was one of the most important choices a lot of people had to make. Families and friends sat down to watch the votes come in. about halfway through you could tell who it was going to be. Me being the moody teenager I am, was sitting in my room. Though I wasn’t completely uninterested in what was going on, I was having my own watch party with my cat in my lap, who wasn’t completely sure why the tensions were so high lately. I watched as more states on the map turned red, I reread what he was going to do to our country. Telling people it’ll be great again, driving families apart, building walls? Doesn’t sound so great.

Our country was founded and built by immigrants, who left their country to start a new one, who fought for our rights. Who bled and died, for us to be a free country, to have rights, November 6th was when it became official, that we had broken our country, all the people who died for us, had been dishonored. The thing that made America great was being thrown away, to be put under a dictatorship. I got called down stairs, completely in shock about what was about to happen, I sat with my dad and my siblings, and watched the end of America be finalized. It broke my heart to see this many Americans supporting this.

A couple hours later, after the longest night I’ve ever experienced. I watched a movie with my family, the sound of music. It was a long movie, but it was important. I had watched it a couple years ago, but I had never truly understood it, not until now. I really let the words and the meanings sink in. My little brother asked if all the bad stuff in the movie was going to happen to America. I looked at my dad who had paused to think for a moment, he seemed sad as he answered with a nod.

Edelweiss started playing again. I had always liked this song, it was pretty, the people who sang it had beautiful voices. But I had never realized what it meant, but knowing me I’m not sure I’ll fully understand it now even. I understand that movie and all of this to the best I can, by just watching and listening.

It rained the day America broke. I was up when it had started raining, I was texting my friend, but I stopped the second it happened. The sky was gray, and it just rained. I think I’ll always remember that

I hope no matter what happens my family knows I love them, even when I seem annoyed. I don’t want them to ever feel like I don’t love them. I’ve never truly thought about it.

God bless what used to be America. I hope it will recover itself one day.

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Here, I thought she was so disinterested; instead, she was absorbing it all. This made me think about how I felt about the work I had done up to this point and whether anyone was listening. Maybe things aren’t quite as hopeless as I feared. It reminded me that there is so much more to fight for. This is not a time for doubt or despair but resilience, perseverance, and some good old-fashioned rolling up our sleeves to get the work done.

That doesn’t mean it's going to be easy; it’s actually going to be quite difficult. Starting next week, I will begin a new limited essay series called The White Rose Papers: A Roadmap to Resistance. I will be pulling from the wisdom of elders past and present, along with my own insights from decades of working on the front as an activist. Some of this will be uncomfortable conversations about what got us here and what must be done to find a pathway forward. We will have to look directly into the dirty mirror of what we have done and what we have left undone. If we are willing to do this painful work, then there might just be something waiting for us on the other side of all of this. I think we owe it to ourselves, and to those who will be most affected by the incoming administration, to do this difficult work.

*Rolls up sleeves*

Here we go… again, again.