Pride

The dry, frosty air nips at my nose and bites at my lips. My breath swirls out in front of me, soft wisps and curls appearing and disappearing with each inhale and exhale. I ball my hands into fists and shove them in my pockets, burying my chin deeper within the confines of my sweatshirt.

We stop and stare at the line of people before me, weaving out the door in a curving line much like a snake, or a tail, or a banner waving in the wind. Dad lets out a long, deep breath and his lips bend up into a smile. “Ah,” he says, “a free country at work.”

I cannot help but share his gladness.

As we open the large, glass doors of the church, warmth rushes over me, thawing my toes and ungloved fingers. Tension is evident in the room. A few people talk, but only in whispers. I recognize old friends, a few I haven’t seen in years. They wave and I shyly wave back.

An old neighbor from ages past catches my eye. “You can vote this year?” she asks me.

I nod and grin. “Sure can. I’ve waited eighteen years and fifteen days for this.”

The conversation is dead before it has even begun. The hour is too early to be too chipper.

They move the line along quickly. The old ladies, checking driver’s licenses, writing down names, ushering people to voting stations: they live for this, I know they do. I can see it in their eyes, glistening and bright.

“Is this your first time voting?” a frail old woman questions me. Her hair is white, her teeth made of plastic.

“Yeah,” I reply.

“Congratulations,” she says, handing me my ballot.

My heart races as I’m led to a vacant booth. What if I circle in the wrong dot? What if I choose the wrong person? What if I mess it up? Is it possible to mess up a ballot?

I open the cover and glance over the sheet of paper before me. My pulse slows down, my breathing becomes more even. This, I think, this is what it means to live in a democracy. This is what the United States of America is all about: a government of the people, by the people, for the people. What would our founding fathers say if they saw our country now?

An African American woman is in the cubicle beside me, proof that we have worked hard to get our nation to where it is today.

Change is coming once again, I can feel it in my heart.

My circles are all filled now, I realize. I give the paper one last glance before covering it once again. The choice was made, not without much thought and contemplation, but I know I have made the right choice and given my contribution.

A man takes my ballot and slides it into a box. There is no turning back now. I take an “I Voted” sticker and place it on my chest for the whole world to see.

Today, I am proud to be an American.