Let The Eagle Fly

I have been dreading my voting experience for weeks now. Not the pitiful options, mind you, but rather the actual physical act of voting. I have been stubbornly holding out of the 2020 early voting craze. No, I would not slog down to the Courthouse and stand in line for an hour and a half to vote three weeks before Election Day. No, I would not place my ballot in an envelope and trust it to the United States Postal Service. I had been determined to not be hoodwinked into a panicked early vote. But honestly, the closer it got to Election Day, the more worried I have become over my stubborn refusal to adapt to 2020. So, there I was this morning at 9:50 am backing out of my parking space at the office to begin the four minute drive to Short Pump Elementary School, my polling place for the last 24 years. I was fully prepared to endure no matter how long the line or how long it took. In a scene worthy of a Frank Capra movie, as I pulled onto Church Road I happened to glance upward only to catch a glimpse of a magnificent bald eagle soaring a couple hundred feet above me. He followed me all the way to the corner of Church and Three Chopt. I attempted to take a picture of him but my cell phone camera wasn’t clear enough...

Trust me everyone...that’s a bald Eagle, and I took it as a positive sign.

First place I went was Publix to pick up some gift cards for the poll workers. Those people do the dirty work of democracy and I felt that this year especially they could use tangible evidence of our appreciation...

The first thing I noticed upon arrival was how empty the parking lot was. Normally I have to make a couple of laps before a space becomes available. Not this time. I parked and begin walking towards the school, under the breezeway in front, then around the corner to the side entrance of the gym. I saw zero voters. Another first. When I entered the gym I got in line. There were probably seven or eight people in front of me. There were easily two poll workers for every voter. The first worker I saw approached me to let me know the drill. I instantly recognized him as one of my neighbors from around the corner. I glanced to my right and saw what looked like at least 15 individual voting booths, each one having been throughly scrubbed down with germ-killing disinfectant by an earnest looking college student. In less than a minute I was being summoned forward by a serious looking black woman in her 60’s who verified my identity, squinting at my drivers license, then me, and mumbled with a smile, I guess that’s you! She then passed me on to a middle aged white man wearing bifocals who gave me my paper ballot and pointed me in the direction of the college student who was in the process of cleaning out my booth. She greeted me with a big smile and said, Here you go, sir.

Pam had pulled up a sample ballot online the night before, so I had already had time to get up to speed with the constitutional amendments on the ballot. Voted YES on both, the first one because anything that takes power away from politicians is fine with me and the second one because why isn’t it already the law?? How come people who serve in the military and suffer a complete and permanent disability are still being charged property taxes on their vehicles in the first place?? Geez. 

Moving on from those, I marked my ballot for my “preferred” candidates...but not before noticing something that made me smile and sigh at the same time. There has always been a soft spot in my heart for the Libertarian Party. On many issues important to me their positions and mine are virtually identical. There was a time when I hoped that perhaps one day the Party would become a viable third way, a party able to compete with the two big boys and provide people like me with...a choice not an echo. But, I looked down at their candidates and notice that the Libertarian Party actually ran someone for Vice President whose middle name was in quotation marks, “Spike”. Heaven help us.

Each of the five poll workers who I came into personal contact with got a gift card. Each of them were surprised and thanked me profusely. One was an immigrant, two were white men, one a black women, and one a female college student. Among the other workers I noticed scurrying around the place were middle aged women and men, one who looked like ex-military, another who looked like a farmer from the sticks, yet another an elderly woman who walked with a cane. As I walked outside the gym into the bright sunshine I thought to myself...Yep...That’s America. That right there is my country.

Now, we all wait for the results. Unlike most political television, I will actually watch the results for as long as my blood pressure, heart, and general mental health can withstand the thing. An adult beverage or two might be consumed. But, no matter what happens, it won’t take away the feeling I had inside that gymnasium, one of pride in and love of my country. May the eagle fly every Election Day.