As the clock stuck exactly 7 a.m., a single poll worker unlocked the local voting precinct’s doors. An old man with a steel cane limped into the high school gym. He received his electronic voting card from the poll worker. It was a slow, painful walk to the machine. He paused, looked closely at the screen and pressed his wrinkled finger against the glass. Ben Johnson, veteran of World War II, voted. It was a right that he and his friends had paid dearly for. He felt he scar on his face burn as he smiled. Bless the USA. Bless all those who had sacrificed so he could have this right.
Behind him in line was Annie McDaniel. Born on a rural farm in the Mississippi Delta, she pushed her walker to the table. She smiled politely to the poll worker and got her card. She knew how she was going to vote — a right that she held dear. She remembered the dark days. The days of Poll Taxes. Her mind drifted to the memory of her brother who had died during the Civil Rights movement. Miss Annie, as the people in the town called her, pressed her finger against the glass. She felt warmth flow through her heart. She had dreamed of this day when she was a little girl. Some dreams do come true.
Jenny Rae Goodall walked into the polling place standing tall. Twenty-one-years old and single, this was her first election. A recent college honors graduate, she couldn’t find a job. As she left her parent’s basement, Jenny Rae knew how she was going to vote. She smiled at the poll worker and marched straight to the machine. There was no hesitation in her heart and mind. Her finger stabbed the glass and the ballot was printed. To Jenny Rae, the election was personal to her. This was about her future.
Bob Quinn had been laid off from his job three years ago. He was now working two jobs; life hadn’t been easy. But he was thankful for this day. And for the two jobs that he had. Things were starting to turn around for Bob and his family. He walked into the high school gym and greeted the lady behind the desk. Bob felt his heart beat faster. He had been waiting for today. His fat finger hit the glass with passion. Thump. He had cast his vote. Now it was time to get back to work.
Frieda John had fought on behalf of women’s rights her whole adult life. She had volunteered for her candidate for months, getting the word out on his behalf. This wasn’t just an election to her. This was her passion — her life. She took the electronic voting card over to the machine. This was the moment she had been working so hard for. Her thin finger hit the screen and she just let it sit there for a moment. It was over. Her battle had been fought. Another vote had been cast.
Frank Jay, Jr. turned 18 six months ago. Three months ago, he had signed up for the United States Marine Corps, just like his father so many years ago. Five months ago, he had buried his father in Arlington Cemetery. Like his dad, he had vowed to protect and defend the U.S. Constitution. Today, he’d do just that. Frank Jay, Jr. voted in honor of his father Frank Sr. The young Marine pressed the glass and headed off to war.
Kathy Gibbs had been an undecided voter. But over the weekend, she locked herself into her study and read both candidates’ positions on the issues. Issues that meant something to her. Kathy was a cancer survivor and was swamped with medical bills. Armed with her research, she walked confidently into the polling place. She smiled at the retired man behind the election roll book. Taking her card, she went to the machine and pressed her choice with confidence.
Joey Adams had no idea who he was going to vote for. He had gotten most of his information from radio-talk show hosts and late-night comedians. But Joey showed up. He stood over the voting machine and thought as deeply as he possibly could. His finger shook as he pressed the glass. He walked out the polling place knowing he now had the right to complain. (unlike his friends who stayed home).
Lisa McNeel walked into the voting precinct with one thing in mind: Her children’s futures. The debt worried her. The fact that her kids might not have the opportunities she had worried her more. She had gotten politically active for the first time in her life. She pressed the glass with the passion of a mother on a mission. She stopped and prayed for her great country. As she walked out of the precinct, Lisa hoped her decision would help her children.
Person after person walked into the polling place that day and voted their conscience. Each voted for their candidate for their own personal reasons. But at the end of the day, all were thankful they lived in a country where they had that right. All wore their “I voted” stickers with pride. And all hoped better days for their country were ahead.
