In My Lifetime

I walked to the Church of St. Helen in the dark of 6 AM. The weather was lovely. My neighborhood streets were softly pillowed with bright yellow maple leaves. The polling station wasn't supposed to open until 7 AM, and I assumed I'd be alone for at least a half an hour, so I was armed with my mini flashlight and a book.

There were already approximately fifty people in line. A middle-aged woman generously offered all of us home-made muffins and bread. The chatting was eager. The atmosphere was the most excited I've ever felt.

The poll people opened the door early and allowed us to wait inside, but the line went up the stairs and out the door.

I had a wholly unexpected experience. I gazed at the tiny black dot I'd made to mark that I was voting for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Tears swelled and ran down my cheeks. I startled myself. I hadn't realized how much this election means to me. I've just voted for a black man for President of the United States. I thought as I looked at that small, incredibly significant dot. And he may very well win. I'm seeing this happen in my lifetime. I wish Mom and Dad were here.

I wiped my cheeks, and slipped my sheet into the electronic machine. When I stuck my I Voted sticker on my shirt, the tears rose again. Happy tears.

I came up from the church basement to a line that was almost around the building, and it was only 7:10 AM. More cars and pedestraians were arriving. To use a very apt cliche, the air was electric. Golden-rose sunlight was just warming through the tree branches as I walked away, putting on my Obama Biden baseball cap.

And now...the wait.