Tuesday I took my 6-year-old daughter with me to vote. The
days leading up, I’d tried to explain to her what this all meant, why voting
was important, and what the president did. The more I explained, the more
confused I became trying to break it down. Every question of hers led to a spin
off in a hundred different directions, but we watched videos and read up on it
together.
As we pulled up to the voting place, I felt nervous. I
realize my vote is just that – one – but I also know that there are times just
a few votes have made a significant difference in something. As we walked out,
a young woman approached us with a smile that matched my unsteady one and
asked, “Do you know where we vote?” I replied I wasn’t sure but that we could
find someone to ask and for her to come with us if she’d like. We figured it
out, and walked together into the building.
She seemed even more nervous than I was, holding her purse
and asking questions. Did she need that voter registration card I was holding?
Was her ID ok? Was she in the right precinct? I assured her that even if it was
all wrong, the voting workers have a lot of options to help her vote as long as
she was registered, and she relaxed a bit.
As we neared the front, she turned to me and smiled. “This
is my first time voting in the U.S.,” she beamed. “I’m so excited. I don’t want
to mess it all up.”
I felt excited for her. “Oh my goodness, how special! What
an election to be able to vote in for the first time.”
She nodded and told me how she might have been able to vote
at her college, but really wanted to drive to where her precinct was (45
minutes away). I asked her where she’d voted before.
“Mexico – it was so different there! We went into a garage
and they have a booth, a sort of black curtain you put over your head, then look
in and vote. I have wanted to vote so much here, I registered to vote in the
primaries but I guess they didn’t process my application in time. So I said no
matter what happens, I have to be able to vote today. I have been checking and
calling to make sure I could.”
As I stood there waiting my turn, I felt a lump in my throat
as she talked. Here was this young woman who had probably gone through much
more than I, personally, had for the right to vote here. She had watched this
whole election unfold and was determined to have a voice in it.
As we walked away, I looked back to give her a smile of
encouragement. Then I snapped a picture with my daughter after I showed her how
the voting machines worked, and we pressed the “SUBMIT” button together, put on
our stickers, and walked out to see what would happen in a few hours.
I came out of that building with a much deeper appreciation
for what this all means. Win, lose – it was an honor to be a part of something
like this.
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