I got my mail-in ballot in the mail a few days ago. I didn’t ask for it. But here it is, in my hand…I blackened the little boxes like on our SAT exams. Felt good..why not just drop it in the mail, after all?
My daughter is compromising; she intends to drop hers off today at the County Election office. Covid-respectful yet secure, she thinks. I could ride along with mine….
But I woke up this morning having decided:
no. I am going to go to the polls.
Maybe this’ll be the last election I will ever vote in. or the last one in which my vote will ever count. I want to be with my fellow Americans, look into their eyes, even if we have to wear masks.
My polling place is at our local Lutheran Church. ( Why do all churches built in the 70s have a gymnasium? “Muscular Christianity”?): I don’t know if it’ll be crowded; probably, in a presidential election year. (I did vote absentee for Trump in 2016 because I was traveling on Election Day. ) I reckon I want to feel I did SOMETHING, right up to the last minute. Last time, all of us doggedly doing the only thing we could do (vote!) was enough!
When the roll is called [over] yonder, I’ll be THERE. Mens sana in corpore sano, (Deo volente.)