This morning I got up early and went to the polls. I only had about 3 hours of sleep, but I feel more energy than I have in a long time. It was not what I expected...I didn't think I would "FEEL" anything while voting, but making a choice on this touch screen was different than touching my iPhone or ordering my WaWa sandwich.
I was voting in the most important primary of my lifetime. I have only been able to vote for the past 4 presidential elections...2 of which were stolen from us and left me feeling violated.
Before approaching the screen, I tried to carefully read the instructions posted on the table where the poll workers took down names and checked people off of the list. I got something akin to an "omen" because I was #74 voting this morning at that location. That is the year I was born...a GREAT year;) Anyway, the man gently nudged me along showing me how the machine works instead of having me take the time to read it. I had already voted with this machine in the Governor's election, but this time was different...so much more important.
I tried joking with the guy about how I wanted to make sure the machine didn't mess up my vote. He just took my card and stuck it into the electronic ballot box, guiding me through the instructions with a confidence that allowed me to relax and know that my vote would be counted. It was around this time that I began putting myself in the shoes of those who had cast votes in the past that had not been counted. How must that feel? Even worse than that, how would it feel to be turned away and not allowed to vote?
What about being disenfranchised? Man, that is really sad when you think about it...which reminds me of this other story that I will tell. I went out on Saturday with my (almost) 13 year old daughter to canvass a neighborhood in Portsmouth. The first people I spoke with told me that they could not vote due to their criminal records. I never did get a definite feeling of whether or not they were purely joking, but the man did tell me that many of his family members could not vote due to prior convictions. He was happy that I reminded him to vote and that he would go register because he said, "I can." The lady never recanted her joke about not being eligible to vote.
I felt sort of bittersweet as I continued down the street, happy that I had a chance to just speak with a stranger and share a laugh and some good information...but sad that there was the blatant reminder that so many people are disenfranchised and have no voice in who gets elected so therefore many could not care less about what's going on in politics. In fact it was only about noon and I sensed that this person may have already had knocked back a couple of swigs.
Next, we approached a young man mowing the lawn. He turned off the motor as we got closer to him and with a smile, invited us to chat. My daughter still had her arms folded across her chest looking very apprehensive about what her mother was getting her involved in. He took the literature and said that he just wanted to "come home". I was a bit confused and I'm sure it showed on my face because he added, "I am over in Iraq...I'm just home for a week on leave so I am mowing my dad's lawn for him while I'm here." I felt heartbroken again but smiled and told him that my husband also is serving in the military. He asked me if he was in Iraq and it reminded me of a few months back when my husband was facing the reality of being sent there for the third time in about 5 years. Luckily that was not his fate.
The young man who I spoke with is in the National Guard and he just wants to come home. I told him that we would get him home. I felt weight on my shoulders, pride that I was doing something which I believed showed him that his people, his community wants to get him back home and that we are all not sitting around on our hands while they are over there risking their lives and dying. I do not want that to be an empty promise. I left there with a lump in my throat.
The next person who I came to who was outside with a young girl of around 5. He was a slightly older gentleman doing something on his truck. He didn't seem interested in the slightest about what we were walking around with a stack of paper in regard to. I got his attention yelling, "Excuse me, sir...I want to remind you to vote on Tuesday." He walked toward me and did not reach out his hand to receive the Obama brochure until he could clearly read the sticker that I sported on the breast of my jacket. He said, "Oh, yeah, you got on the right one." Or something to that effect. He happily took the papers and assured me that he would get out and vote.
I told him to have a good day. He told me as we walked away that it was a good day as he opened up the pamphlet and glanced through it...and I knew what he meant by that.
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