When you were 10 years old or younger, did your parent(s) ever have you appear in any political or social issue carrying a sign or making a

No. 

Of course not.  My parents didn't use their children as instruments.  

I got to hold the baby Jesus in the Christmas pageant when I was 9.  I was Mary. 

I don't think this really counts.

No. My family was about as non-political as you could get. :)

Nope. My parents didn't exploit me like that. At 10 I was more interested in Pokemon than politics. 

Actually, I'm still more interested in Pokemon than politics. :D

Both parents were members of the Labor Party. Election time, the car was festooned with homemade cartoons, stickers etc about what a lousy job the other side was doing (Dad fancied himself as a cartoonist and was actually reasonably good), as well as a poster of the local Labor candidate attached to the front fence.
Regularly attended monthly party meetings, not much in the way of demonstrations.

Maybe
never knew them
   

Mom was too busy working and raising six children to be political.

Yes. I once attended a CND (Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament) event with my parents back in the 1980s. I don't remember whether it was more like a protest or an awareness-raising event, but I remember helping to hold up some kind of sign or banner. I was outdoors at the time - it might have been a public square, a park, or the forecourt of a town hall. CND was the only political cause my parents ever enthusiastically supported in those days - I was ambivalent about it, in that I was anti-Bomb but in favour of nuclear power, whereas CND were 100% anti-nuclear. 

Growing up, my parents weren't involved in much. However, there was this one time my mom was involved in a contract dispute with the union and the hospital she worked at. I actually got involved by protesting with her the entire day. Eventually, her union settled things and she was back at work in a couple of weeks. I think I was 8 years old at the time.

Not a political campaign, no.

But he insisted that I campaign at the primary school for a cooler design of uniform for the girls.

On ANZAC Day, Aussie school kids have to march to an assembly at a war memorial to commemorate all the  soldiers who died in all our wars.
On one particular day, it was so hot standing in the sun that I and several other girls passed out.

The uniform was a dark green, pleated nylon tunic over a white shirt - four layer of synthetic and the dark colour absorbing lots of heat.

Dad asked me to go around to all the girls during play break and ask that they go on strike for a cooler uniform.

Someone must have told a teacher.

When the bell for return to class rang, my teacher pulled me aside and asked me if I wanted to be a martyr.
I knew exactly what she meant, but feigned innocent ignorance, "What's that, Mrs Murray?"
She believed my ploy and took pity on me (no punishment).
She asked what had prompted my campaign.
On hearing the story she said she would inform the headmaster and get him to ring my father.

I have no idea what was said, but it was the only time in my life when my father backed down from anything.

To this day, I feel intense shame about my lack of courage when it comes to activism.
But I can used the pen. At least that's something.