We did it. I took the 11 year old girl to the booth with me. She watched me fill in boxes with dark ink. She kind of stared at what the guy next to us was doing until I told her to stop and moved her closer to me. She met a bunch of the neighbors while waiting in line. We have history in this neighborhood, ya’ll, generations of it. Grandma was working the polls, taking names and kicking ass so far as I could tell. The girl child has gone with me to vote at every Presidential election since she was born. I’m torn about whether I think my measly little vote matters, well, no I’m sure it doesn’t, but I like for her to see the process anyway. Nothing takes the dread and fear away from doing something, like having seen it done before.
Voting Over Mom’s Shoulder