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"I've Come To Make My Vote"
Democrats Organizing For America
9 hrs ·
"I've Come To Make My Vote"
The 30-something white man across the table looked to be solid working class: doing ok, but probably never feeling really "well off".
He brushed his longish hair back and bounced his knee slightly as I filled out his provisional ballot envelope for him, explaining what it all meant.
I assured him that since his ID was good, the board of elections would probably certify his vote without any problem.
"Good, yeah, cause we've got to vote, you know?" he said.
I smiled and nodded. ~Preachin to the choir here!~ I thought.
"Voting is what America is all about"
I agreed.
"Yeah, and we have to vote so it stays America!"
Perhaps I looked puzzled, because, in a more confidential tone, he elaborated.
" I mean look around you! It's starting to look like a damn third world country around here."
My hand slowed for an moment and I lost track of what I was supposed to be writing.
Head still bent over his form, I lifted my eyes just enough to see across the church meeting room to the row of voting machines against the far wall where this man's neighbors were assembled; voting or waiting to sign in.
A middle aged black man in work boots and reflective vest of a city road crew, a tiny elderly woman bent like a question mark, so small that all I could see of her behind the machine was a whisp of white hair above and baggy green sweat pants below.
A brisk woman in business attire.
And peeking at me from under the machine where she crouched at her mother's feet, a plump brown child with black curls and dancing dark eyes.
Reflexively, I smiled at her and she clutched her mother's leg for security, then grinned back at me.
It had been a good day so far.
The machines seemed to be working properly, the turnout was steady, and golden autumn sunshine was streaming in the windows behind us.
There were elderly couples leaning on each others arms who had been voting here for 50 years, and people who were new to the neighborhood, and excited, 18 year old firt-timers.
Teachers on their way to school who requested extra "I Vote!" stickers to take to their class to talk about the importance of voting.
In fact, as the designated sticker-ripper I had to hustle to keep up with the demand for voting stickers, as everyone seemed to wanted to make sure people knew that they had voted today.
Nurses in scrubs on their lunch break, stay-home moms with multiple little ones in tow.
Middle managers with battered briefcases leaned against the voting booth.
All polite and cheerful, all taking time out of their day to take part in the single most important evolutionary step man has made since he crawled out of the ooze and learned to make fire: vote.
A Vietnamese family had entertained us all earlier that morning: grandma and Grandpa, squat, grey, energetic and speaking only broken English, assisted in voting by their patient sons and daughters.
I enjoyed the lovely liquid drone of their native language as they tried to sort out Issue This and Councilman That.
And the whole time, all of them were watching over and doting on the two sloe-eyed toddler boys, sleek and quick as little brown minnows.
Their curious eyes taking in all that was going on in the room, they delightedly plastered their grandma with voting stickers when her turn was done.
And all of them were unflaggingly cheerful, proud and excited by the chance to do what too many of us consider such a chore: stand in line and vote.
"But... this is exactly what I want America to be" I thought.
It should be a country where, no matter what partisan or class divisions are outside, no matter what color or religion or ethnic group you are part of, there is a room in your neighborhood where you can go and nobody talks about that.
Nobody picks any fights or points any fingers and whatever is on the ballot, you get to be exactly the same as every one else: a citizen.
Sign your name, pull the lever or push the button or make your mark and you are a part of history.
All people truly are created equal in the voting booth.
Feeling more centered now, I drew a slow breath and raised my eyes to his face and gave him what I hoped was a completely blank gaze.
He had leaned in slightly and seemed eager to say more, possibly about the looming downfall of America, but something in my face made him draw back.
"Well... uh... God Bless America, right? he amended awkwardly.
I nodded gravely, finished filling in the required information on the form and handed the man his ballot, pointed him to the booth to my right.
He marked it and soon went on his way, leaving only my lingering sadness in his wake.
A short time later, a set of long, graceful fingers pulled a drivers license from a worn wallet and placed it gently but oh so determinedly on the table before me.
"Good daeh to you, Mees" said a low, quiet voice with the musical, lilting tones of Africa. "Ah have come to make mah vote".
I looked up into a strong ebony face with slightly yellowed eyes and a smile so deep and certain that you could fall into it forever...
I smiled too.
" Good" I said as I picked up my pen.
"I'm glad that you are here."
~~~
Tracy Lynn Stout Meisky / Democrats Organizing For America
11 replies
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