One of my favorite things to do as a grown-up is going to vote. When Larry and I first married, we used to live on the street where our polling place was. The best times were those cool November mornings when I’d bundle up in my coat, drive down (I was on my way to work after all), and line up outside in the cold and dark with other early birds. We always liked to see who could be first. It was usually those of us who worked out of town or whose jobs started before 8 a.m.
Our polling place has been moved to a new location, closer to where we live now although it is still the same precinct. It’s a larger space and I imagine does a better job of accommodating the crowds, but it’s not quite the same. I miss old friends who used to work the polls or be in that early morning line.
Of course, nowadays, I’m among the increasing percentage of folks taking advantage of early voting. Larry only wants to vote on Election Day, but I’d rather check it off my list and not have to feel guilty about tuning out the final weeks of attack ads.
So, yesterday afternoon, I went to the voter registration office and exercised my right and responsibility to vote. And when I got there I had to stand in line. It was only a few people deep, but I was thrilled to have to wait a minute for a voting machine.
Because it matters — not just who or what we vote for — but that we vote. I may not like the results of some races and may be thrilled with others, but knowing that free people came together to make choices does my heart good.
May God bless America. 🇺🇸