I Voted...

Yes, I was there at 6:30 AM. I wasn't the first in line but I was the second. One by one bodies stagger in, not yet fully awake, a Starbucks latte in one hand and a desire for change in the other.

At 7 am, they called me in. "Sixth precinct, to the left, give the first letter of your street name", I hear from the veteran volunteer with strong vocal cords that are loud enough for the 33rd person in line to get the message.

"A" is my letter. "A" for Atlantic Avenue. I am checked off and my, yes my, paper ballot is issued to me. I glance at it almost afraid to look at it fully like it's a document that was given to me by the secret service to personally deliver to the White House . Somehow my choice is all that counts today. I take a deep breath, and proceed to the booth. My hand is quivering, my heart is racing and I feel a little faint. Sort of like the feeling I get every time I go for a mammogram.

I set the elongated, white, crisp paper down and begin to read. Why is it all such a blur? Oh, of course, my glasses. I am fishing around in my clutch looking for my glasses thinking all the while that the veteran volunteer, with the loud lungs, is going to look over and shout out, "what are you looking for over there", and I will be embarrassed in front of my all my neighbors.

Specs are on and I am ready. First vote is Commander in Chief. My finger scrolls down the list.
The last name in the column is spelled out. That name spells change, youth, inspiration. It spells value, father, intelligence. It spells husband, eloquence, genuine. It spells strength, transformation, leader. It spells my vote. I have never felt so sure of my vote. I fill in the hollow oval in jet black ink. Hard and thick so that my choice is not missed. The rest doesn't really matter. I skim along the remaining columns. Yes, on not mistreating the greyhounds anymore.
On state income taxes, come on, if I want good schools, police protection, and the arts, I vote for it. On grass, a no brainer.

I am done. That took all of 3 minutes. I walk to the silver counting machine and submit my selection. I stand until the last quarter inch disappears. I am relieved. I am free. I am elated.

I have never felt more proud to be an American.