dear Tom Daschle.

Dear Tom Daschle,

You probably don't remember me.

In fact, I hope you don't.

You came to Arlington, South Dakota when I was a junior in high school.

You visited my English class.

I was 16.

I thought I was a Republican.

Turns out, I had no idea what that meant.

I thought I was a Republican because my grandma Lorraine was a Republican.

Did I know what she stood for?

Not really.

I knew that Grandma Lorraine loved her family more than anything, and she was a badass woman in a time where women stayed home.

So if Republicans were good enough for her, they were good enough for me.

So, Tom Daschle, that's why I glared at you when you visited our classroom.

That's why I didn't have any questions to ask you.

I have so many questions for you now.

I'm sorry I swooned over John Thune when he visited the following year. 

He signed a piece of notebook paper that used to hang on my wall.

I have since burned it.

I'm sorry I wore my "Thune!" shirt so often.

I have since trashed it.

I am NOT sorry that all photographic evidence of this shirt has been destroyed.

But don't worry, Tom Daschle.

I had this all figured out by the time I was old enough to vote.

I'm sorry I was never old enough to vote for you.

Because I would have.

Thanks for all you did for my home state of South Dakota. Thanks for all you did for our country.

Thanks for everything, Tom Daschle.