When you joined Ukip, I was a clueless teenager, happy to support your cause as long as I didn’t have to do anything. But now Ukip is a credible threat on the UK’s political landscape and I have become a politically aware thirtysomething.
These days, I’m unable to separate you, Mum, from Ukip. A long-time animal lover, you have started supporting fox hunting with hounds. You brought me up to be an independent woman, and I can’t square this with the misogynistic views you now support, or are you just toeing the party line? Do you really think, like Nigel Farage, that working mothers are worth less?
I don’t know why you are so loyal to Ukip. Maybe it is because you are old-fashioned. I daren’t ask. We don’t talk politics.
You complain I don’t tell you anything about my life, but how can I? I live in an area with many Bangladeshi residents, but I can’t tell you about my local restaurants, because you will make a quip about immigrants. You claim to be proud of my volunteering with homeless people, yet I know you will judge the number of eastern Europeans using the service. You can’t help but make these barbed comments; they’ve become part of your DNA. I’m not even sure you believe them.
You feel slighted when I ignore your emails with Ukip literature. When I reply with my own opinions, you claim I’m being “difficult” and don’t support you. I’m glad campaigning makes you happy and keeps you occupied, but your children aren’t clones of yourself, and you can’t expect us to feel the same way. I miss the mum who had her own opinions. I don’t think she will come back.
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