When I was in eighth grade, our class had a mock presidential election and being an attention-starved ham, I wanted more than anything to be the next President of the United States. The year before, I had lost the election for class president to a boy who stuttered through his entire speech. I guess my Have a Bash Vote for Ash"" slogan didn't really resonate with my conservative Catholic audience.
For the 2000 Presidential election, our teacher informed us that our school would televise the mock debate in every classroom in our Catholic school and needed two students to impersonate Bush and Gore. Before she even asked who wanted to volunteer, I not-so-gracefully jumped out of my chair, raised my hand and pleaded, ""Pick me, Ms. G! I want to be on TV!!""
This mock debate was my chance for redemption. If I won the fake debate and election, I could raise my approval rating among my classmates. Maybe Amy Bishop would stop shielding her answer sheet during science exams. Perhaps Johnny Begale would stop running away from me at recess when I went to pinch his big butt, and respond to my mushy IMs. Hopefully, that jerk-off coach would finally let me play an entire quarter of a basketball game and I wouldn't throw up all the Nutty Bars I'd just eaten.
And with that, I went from a being a pop star-obsessed 13-year-old girl with multiple hair wraps to the guy who invented the Internet - Al Gore. Not many others volunteered, because this actually took some work, as Ms. G said we'd have to read how the candidates stood on the issues and prepare and memorize answers.
""Please,"" I thought to myself. ""I'm a genius."" I, after all, had already memorized the constitutional preamble the week before, and sang it in front of the class to the tune of 'N Sync's ""It's Gonna Be Me,"" complete with dance moves. Being President would be much easier.
Being Al Gore excited me because I knew my dad wasn't voting for him. Dad expressed disdain for Gore at the dinner table using words like ""pussy."" Even after my research, I didn't understand how Al Gore was at all like a cat, but I didn't bring this up to my Dad.
On the day of the election, I stole a suit coat from my dad's closet and a pair of my brother's dress pants, and tried to persuade Khrista, the girl I carpooled with, to be my Tipper and give me a big nasty kiss after the debate.
""No,"" she squealed. ""You're a girl. Plus I'm voting for Corey.""
Corey was playing Bush, and in true Dubya form, ultimately showed up to debate unprepared, made up words and twisted his face to look like a prematurely-born monkey at the camera whenever I spoke.
""Why?"" I asked."" I'm your friend.""
""I know. But that's who my dad is voting for. And my mom said Gore will kill all the babies. He likes abortions. My mom said he had one.""
According to my research, she was right. But who cared? I could tell through our experiences with water babies that Khrista might not be suited for motherhood - after her last baby leaked all over the basement, he ended up in the garbage.
But Khrista's vote didn't matter because I didn't win.
Clearly, I had won the debate. One of the nuns - who didn't wear a habit and was obviously the coolest teacher in the school since she had admitted she'd previously worked as a carny - told me so after lunch. I signed autographs for the whole first grade class after I was bombarded in the lunch line. Johnny Begale even ran a little slower at recess - he allowed me to catch up to him and he gave me a Kit Kat bar. This all made me feel very presidential. Still, my Catholic school was a red state. I was a blue girl in the wrong building.
I was excited to go home that night and watch the real results, confident that nationally, I would be a success among old ladies who worked at grocery stores and loved and wanted to play with my red hair.
In hindsight, I think it's safe to say St. John Brebeuf made the wrong choice and that I was light years ahead of all the other students. And I can tell you now, all those plaid skirted girls who grew up to become sluts are now pro-choice. I can only hope that by the time this column is published, the party I once led will now be in power.
If you'd like to support Ashley in her run for office in 2028, email her at aaspencer@wisc.edu.
