Going Up the Road to Vote

Back in the days of my grandparents living on their farm, working the fields and raising a family, when November came around and it was an election year, they exercised their Right to Vote.

At a certain time on that important day, my grandfather would come in from the barn to get cleaned up. My grandmother would finish preparing a full-course meal with all the trimmings. Election Day was treated with respect and a fine homemade dinner including dessert. When my grandparents were ready to go, they'd get in my grandfather's small Ford truck and head up the road to, what I remember them calling, the county barn, where they would vote. 

A few times I was lucky enough to go with my Aunt Claire in her small Ford car to the county barn. I'd be able to go inside and wait for her. I loved doing that. Although I was very young, I was able to sense the importance of the moment; that being our right of freely expressing our opinions, hopes, fears and dreams for the country we love through Voting for candidates of our choice. Everyone was respectful of their neighbors. People working behind the desks were treated with kindness. After all, they were the ones responsible for making Democracy work through the recording of their neighbor's votes.

After returning to my grandparents' farmhouse, my parents and other relatives would come for Election Night Dinner. The meal was like a Sunday night feast. The mood was jubilant. The adults were celebrating their exercising their right to Vote. I don't recall any arguing of issues or tearing each other up over candidates. I don't remember any awkwardness when any certain politician's name came up. In fact, I don't remember any politician being named. Maybe I was too young. Maybe I was too into my plate full of my grandmother's cooking. Maybe their names did come up. Maybe. Maybe not. But there was no arguing. No shouting. Just discussions. And lots of laughter. And so much wonderful food.

Looking back, what I do remember was the void of television with zillions of channels and commentators expressing opinions, some spinning the truth, some accusing without facts to back them up. I do remember there were no cell phones, no Twitter or Facebook or dark places one could go to on a scary thing called the internet. There was just a family gathered in a large farm kitchen, sitting around the table enjoying a fine meal prepared by a loving woman who'd gone with her husband up the road in his small Ford truck to cast their ballots for the candidates of their own choosing. No one threatened them. No one tried stopping them. After all, they were expressing a Right in the democracy they loved called America.

(I chose the attached photo, feeling it might have been a snapshot back in the day of my grandparents of what is now popularly called a Focus Group. People gathered together to discuss issues and exchange opinions).