A conservative grows in Bklyn

The day after Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election, I took my 2-year-old son to a mommy-and-me music class in Park Slope. The teacher began the class by passing around a box of tissues and leading us in a rousing chorus of “We Shall Overcome.”

“This is probably the darkest day in America’s history,” he told the room full of toddlers.

“Raise your hand and say, ‘What about Pearl Harbor?’ ” I whispered to my son. “Or how about any day Americans held slaves?” He chewed on his plastic shaker, oblivious to my dark mutterings.

I had signed my son up for the class looking for that holy grail of motherhood: a circle of mom friends. Based on the general weeping and anguished solidarity of the other moms, it seemed I had my work cut out for me.

I reflexively feel I must inform you that I did not vote for Trump. But I didn’t vote for Hillary Clinton, either, and my views skew generally to the right of center. This makes me something of an anomaly in the world of Brooklyn mommies.

“Are you going to the Women’s March?” was the question on everyone’s lips for about a week the following January. Everyone felt it was important for their toddlers to become activists. When asked if I would be going, I offered a simple, “No.” How could I explain that, while I support women’s rights, I am pro-life and feel that modern feminism doesn’t actually support women?

I am not a coward — my friends know which way my opinions lean — but when it comes to my mommy acquaintances, I am wary. When I meet someone new and friend her on Facebook, I find her feed full of posts about the misogyny of the right, and banners that proudly proclaim, “I Stand With Emma.” On the walk to preschool, multicolored signs invite my son and me to “Identify Our Privilege.” I have unwittingly become a conservative embedded in #TheResistance.

The problem is, I like these other moms. I enjoy their company, their banter about the crazy things their kids did or said, the solidarity that comes from the shared experience of parenting. I wouldn’t mind being described as “conservative but still really nice.” I respect their political views, even as I disagree with them. Perhaps I should give them the benefit of the doubt. But then I log onto Facebook or walk down the street and I’m not sure I can. Liberalism is the air they breathe, and I am a fish out of water.

I have to walk a fine line. On the one hand, I worry that my son will become “that kid” who’s always getting picked last for kickball because he raised concerns about socialism. On the other hand, I feel I must explain — during a read-aloud of “The Rainbow Fish” — that the little fish isn’t actually obliged to give up his sparkly scales just because the other fish want them.

The little girl at the coffee shop the other day turned out to be a boy. I never would have known — his long hair and fetching purple dress gave nothing away — except that he emphatically informed me, “I’m a boy!”

At the bookstore, my son points to a picture of a princess and asks “Is this a boy or a girl?” I look over my shoulder and angle us away from a family browsing nearby. “It’s a girl,” I whisper. “See, she’s wearing a dress.” My son looks up into my face. “Mommy,” he says, “why are you whispering?”

Liberalism is the air they breathe, and I am a fish out of water