Vote—November 8, 2022
My mother always claimed that the first vote she ever cast was for Harry S. “Give ‘Em Hell” Truman. This, she said, was remarkable because her action steered her away from her family’s traditional, conservative record of voting. She was a Democrat; they were Republican. The die was cast.
I realized many years later that she could not have voted for Truman in 1948 because she was just 20 when Truman ran for president (after serving in that capacity after FDR died in office in April 1945). It was not until July 1, 1971—when our Nation ratified the 26th Amendment to the Constitution—that 18-, 19-, and 20-year old Americans were permitted to vote, even though they served in our armed forces, paid taxes, worked, etc. In short, they were participating in our democracy and fulfilling their responsibilities as citizens in all ways save one. Voting.
My mother must have wanted to vote for Truman. She must have wanted to vote. That motivation drove her to cast a ballot in every other election. I doubt that she missed even one. What’s more, she demanded that my father, sisters, and I go to the polls. In those early voting years, I remember turning over my driver’s license to the poll worker, physically signing a large book next to my “official” signature, taking the ballot to a booth with a curtain that pulled around (ensuring privacy), punching holes in the election card, and returning my ballot. All of this on the Election Day. There was no early voting, mail-in votes, or electronic signatures. There was no feeding of the ballot into a machine that recorded and counted each vote. There was one way to vote.
My mother was always the last to vote in our family. With no restrictions, she double checked to make sure each of us had voted before her. Woe to the family member who failed in this all-important civic duty. And, then—like everyone else—she waited for results in the next day’s newspaper (or on one of the 3 main TV channels available).
Instilled in me was the importance of voting and the value of making my voice heard, no matter how small or insignificant a voice it is. Today—with seemingly countless TV channels available and myriad ways to gather information (or disinformation)—I believe that voting is more important than ever before. And we now have more ways than ever to cast our votes.
This week my husband, mother-in-law, and I drove to our local Board of Elections and voted. We slapped our “Ohio Voted” stickers on our jackets/sweaters and took ourselves out for a celebratory lunch (outside, where we felt more Covid-safe and at a restaurant where there is a wonderful view of the Cuyahoga River). On voting day, my husband and I will be poll workers, joining fellow poll workers we have come to know and whose company we enjoy (a 50/50 split of Democrats and Republicans). When we drag ourselves home from that 15-hour day, we will order a pizza, perhaps open a bottle of wine, and watch early returns on TV. We will wait with everyone else for final results that are announced the next day (or a few days after that, depending on how some elections play out). Knowing how the system works—as we do, since we are poll workers—we will accept the results without (as my mother would have said) “bellyaching” about whether (or not) “our” candidate won. And we will return to the polls the next time we have an opportunity to vote.
I consider it a privilege and an honor to vote in our country. I hope you do, too.
Please vote.
