Our ballots for voting came in the mail today – and my heart did a little dance.
Not because I am eager to vote – although I am – but because this time there were three ballots in our mailbox. Our son, Alex, will vote for the first time.
When I asked him to watch the first presidential debate with me, he stayed 10 minutes. He detested the tone of “yelling” he perceived and announced, “I know who I am going to vote for anyway” and left the room.
I don’t know if he perceives the privilege that voting offers. And I wonder how to impart that wisdom. As a student, traveling in 1976, I experienced some lack of freedom in other countries: a whistle blew as a fellow student paused in Prague, kneeling down to tie his shoe. He was admonished and told to get up and keep moving. In Moscow, I left the group and meandered through Gumms, a large department store. When I stopped to snap a photo with my Kodak Instamatic, a guard appeared and shook his finger at me, “Nichts!” Of course, these are simple actions. Still, it was Communism that governed and its citizens did not enjoy democracy.
These stories matter not to my son, who wants only to vote for the candidates who will make life just for others. Even when he was a toddler, Alex often asked about a person’s character. When Becky showed him a statue of President Lincoln, he asked her, “Did he like children?” We vet our candidates according to our values.
I plan to sit down with Alex, his ballot, the voter’s pamphlet and probably a cheese pizza. Not because I will tell him how to vote, but to answer questions and watch him as he ponders choices, a privilege that never ceases to amaze me. No bloodshed or coups, instead we elect our leaders through a peaceful, informed process, with information at hand - served with a main course of pizza and, hopefully, a healthy side dish of enlightenment.
(S-R archives photo)