I voted on Tuesday. You know, like a decent human.
As I was driving up to my polling place, I saw a woman striding with purpose down the sidewalk. And I thought, “That woman is gonna go git it done at the polls!” I was delighted when I saw her walk up to the church basement where the voting magic was taking place. Up close, she was kind of scary. She moved fast and she was not messing around – she was there to get her democracy on. I liked her.
At 2 in the afternoon, there was a tiny bit of a wait – I had to stand in line behind one person. But it gave me time to appreciate the red, white, and blue apparel donned by the volunteers. Plus? People were voting, even though we didn’t have anything sexy on the ballot. Revolution starts at home, so I researched those water board candidates and was going to make my voice heard, dammit.
I voted. And as I was finishing up, an older gentleman came in. The volunteers took his ID and asked him to verify his address. And this lovely man said, “I have dementia, so this is hard for me. But I think it’s …” And then he rattled off an address.
I left. Well, I left the building but sat in my car and cried.
Last year, after voting? I also sat in my car and cried. I cried because I didn’t have words to express how I felt about voting for a woman for president. I was proud and excited. And I tried to explain to my husband that this vote was for every boy who told me I was “just a girl,” for all those times I was told to shut up or was talked over, for all of it. But I didn’t have the words.
This year, I cried because the last year has been exhausting and scary and sad. But mostly I cried for the sweet man in the khaki jacket, who shared that reciting his address was a challenge. I admire his honesty and his bravery. And I’m so thankful that he saw voting as a priority. He didn’t stay home, even if he didn’t have the words. He went out and did the work to be done.