My kids have never really known a time that didn’t involve politics.

Since they’ve been old enough to stuff an envelope, stick a yard sign into the ground or knock on a door, they’ve been part of every campaign I’ve worked on.

They’ve had some amazing opportunities. They’ve met presidents, first ladies and governors. They even got to meet Stephen King, who posed for a great picture with them.

For my daughter, Addie, though, elections can be bittersweet. Her birthday is in early November and most years, she shares attention with an election and with Halloween.

She turned 13 this week, and it’s not really accurate to call her my little girl anymore. She’s smart, compassionate and strong. She doesn’t take any crap and she doesn’t give any quarter when it comes to being engaged, learning about an issue and taking a side.

As we move into the final days of the most bitter, divisive and ugly campaign in my lifetime — and certainly in my daughter’s — I would like to share an essay she wrote for school earlier this year.

The assignment was called “This I Believe,” and Addie wrote about her memories of Election Night 2014.

Addie spent Election Night at the Michaud for Maine headquarters. Both she and my son, Elias, can be counted among Mike Michaud’s biggest fans. Addie was with us for the live television interviews and as we watched the results come in. She was there when Mike had to make the difficult decision to concede to Gov. Paul LePage.

Workers remove the giant “I Like Mike” sign from the stage in Portland after Democrat Mike Michaud’s 2014 defeat to Gov. Paul LePage. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

As we head toward Election Day, I’d like to share Addie’s memories from that night and the lesson she remembers. And to all my campaign colleagues (regardless of which side you’re on), I hope during this crazy last week that this helps you remember why you got involved in the first place.

Here’s how she remembered the night and what she wrote:

We hopped into the car, desperately trying to dodge the rain. We were on our way to make history! We were going to elect the first openly gay governor of Maine. We were going to elect Mike Michaud.

The drive was quiet but filled with excitement. It was Election Night 2014. When we walked through the doors of Port City Music Hall, I noticed a girl. She was quiet, standing with her stuffed tiger and wearing a sequined dress. The tiger had caught my attention. I had the same stuffy, when I was her age.

As the night went on, hopeful attitudes started to fade away. We were losing, not by much, but losing. I hurried to the room where Mike, my dad and his co-workers were working out the next move. He was going to concede, we were going to concede. It was over.

The decision was made.

I heard his footsteps first, then I saw him. It was Mike, he was walking onto the stage and the look on his face said it all. I didn’t want to be there, I wanted to be anywhere but there.

We were accepting defeat, a failure. We had lost.

I quietly slipped downstairs. I could hear everything, maybe even louder than upstairs. It was echoey and definitive. My attempt to get away only made it worse.

The room was mostly empty. People wanted to hear what Mike was going to say. They didn’t know, but I did. Only me and another girl remained, the girl in the sequined dress. She was crying.

I scanned the room hoping for someone to be there to help her. No one was, just me. I started on my way over when her dad walked out of the bathroom. I was relieved.

The girl’s dad knelt down next to her to see what was wrong. She had lost her tiger. I didn’t notice until then. Another kid had taken it, and it wasn’t coming back. I saw her dad speaking to her in a quiet voice. The girl continued to cry.

He said to her, “you know, the carousel never stops turning.” The girl in the sequined dress stood still and wiped her tears. She was done crying.

By this time, we could hear that Mike was coming to the end of his speech.

I focused on his voice, as did the little girl’s father. He said that this election was over, but fighting for what he stands for wasn’t. He said that no matter how many times we lose, or come up short, or don’t succeed that we must keep fighting, because without the fight nothing will ever change. The hard work continues.

He continued that we must continue moving forward because moving backward isn’t an option.

That’s when it clicked. I believe in moving forward. That moving back isn’t an option. That fighting for people to have better lives never stops. That people deserve someone to fight for them.

I believe the carousel never stops turning.