life in and around NYC is insane

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Election Day

I put on my pantsuit.  Who would have imagined that the clothes in my closet would be a political statement?

I drove to the polling place, signed my name in the registration book.  The poll worker handed me a ballot.  I carefully filled in the little circles next to each candidate's name, then brought my ballot to the voting machine to be scanned.  A moment later, the display indicated that my ballot had been cast, my vote recorded.   So simple. 

I thought about the suffragettes, about Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott.  About Seneca Falls and the 19th Amendment.   For them it was not so simple. 

I thought about my grandmothers, each of whom fled the turmoil of Eastern Europe in the early years of the 20th Century.  Each came to America seeking freedom and security. My paternal grandmother died before I was born, I never knew her.  But my maternal grandmother...she was a strong woman, widowed young, who raised three daughters on her own.  She embraced this country and all it stood for.  She was proud to be a citizen, often told the story of the day she went to court to become an American.  She treasured that hard-earned right to vote.

I thought about my mother.  My late father used to joke that my mother was "a liberated woman even before there was such a thing".  And he said it with such pride.  My mother earned a law degree when she was in her 50's. 

I thought about my daughters.  Bright young women, millennials, trying to figure out their life's path, a future with a myriad of possibilities before them.

And I thought about my future grandchildren, and all the generations to come. 

Such a simple act, coloring in a few circles.  And yet of the most important tasks I have ever done.

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