my pink toes

I am always moved to tears at some point on Election Day. Tonight, it was when I left the school after dropping off my and Dave's ballots. We vote absentee, but we had hopes of taking our kids today to show them what it's like to go to a polling station. As in many areas of the country, our county will be going to an all-mail system by next November. I understand the realities behind the decision: so many people vote absentee anyway, it's hard to find polling workers, it's much cheaper..... And the reality for us is that voting by mail is much more convenient. We wanted to bring the kids tonight to show them a tangible symbol of our right to vote as Americans - but the reality was that they were too fried and we were all too tired to pull together a family excursion after dinner. Case in point of why the mail-in ballot truly is more convenient in our modern world.

I remember the first time I showed up and was given a sharpie and a mark-sense ballot instead of a punch card. It was easier to read and conceivably more accurate than punch cards (remember Florida in 2000?), but something was missing. I already bypassed the booths and levers system by virtue of not being born until 1972, but even the folding platforms that held our punch cards had a sort of formality to them - the way we had to slide them in the holder just right, and the satisfying whap the metal-rimmed pages made as we turned them, following the long ballots. A sharpie and a bubble form felt more like the SATs than an election. I used to take my little "cheat sheets" in with me to the booth, guiding me on how to punch my ballot after spending hours researching the various elections. Soon, the voting process will be entirely isolated - instead of just making my cheat sheets at the dining room table, everyone everywhere will be coloring in the circles and licking envelopes. The sound of voting will be the fwop of an envelope landing in a mailbox.

But regardless of how we vote: by mail, by Sharpie, by punch or by lever...or even by show of hands - the important this is that we get to vote. This is what moved me to tears as I stepped back into the parking lot, dodging the other stragglers running in to cast their last-minute votes. We get to be here. It is a regular day. No one bullied me or my family, no one shot at me as I walked up to vote. My vote will be counted - it is not a sham to keep the powerful from losing their station. Each person's vote counts the same: we are each ONE person, ONE vote. It's a miracle, really. A tiny, enormous, wonderful, hope-inspiring miracle.

I am so grateful to have the opportunity. So grateful that this American Experiment works.