I found myself shivering from the freezing weather as I sat on the steps of the Capitol Building. I untucked my numb ears from my fuzzy winter hat as I decided to pay attention to the woman standing on the bottom step.

This was my second time visiting Washington D.C. and sitting on these same steps, however, this time I felt myself focus on what was being said. 

Unlike the numerous tour guides who came before her, this woman made me feel important and recognized. Her words convinced me that I have a role to play in the future of our country. After her presentation, my eighth-grade class split in half. One half remained seated on the steps, while the other half rushed over to the woman, begging to hear more from her.

For the first time on this trip, I found myself joining the second half of my peers. I remember asking one of my friends who she was and why she was so nicely dressed. My friend’s eyebrows rose and her eyes bulged as she whispered into my ear that the woman was none other than our US representative, Lizzie Fletcher. 

To the mini, energetic, eighth-grade version of myself, trips to places like Washington D.C. were boring and felt like a waste of time. Growing up, I always assumed that political views and opinions were meaningless until you were 18 years old, the legal age to vote. 

After my school trip came to an end, I made it a morning ritual to discuss the news with my father. I finally graduated from the comics section of the newspaper. We would talk about economics, disagreements between countries, elections and, most importantly, hate crimes and injustices.

I would always find myself scavenging through the internet for more details and information. I specifically focused on wrongfully accused and unjustly killed individuals. I would also spend the car rides to school digging for more information on shootings, murders and other acts of hate. I began to search for the reasoning behind all of this cruelty. I found nothing. There was no ethical answer to why any of this was happening.

This made me feel so small in a world full of so much hate. I asked myself how my opinions and beliefs on such controversial topics could have any impact on our society, especially since the law states that I should not have a say until the age of 18. 

Recently, I recalled a memory of Fletcher explaining that we could write to her in Washington D.C. I wish I had remembered this earlier when I was struggling with my political views, but I now realize how useful being able to contact our local congresswoman may be for other students who are unable to vote. 

To reach out to Fletcher, visit her site and select the appropriate link. Every voice matters, and contacting our representative is a great way to make sure yours is heard.