I'm not a very political person. I watched the first debate because I
was promised a meatball sandwich for dinner and had a side of
embarrassment because of how little I knew about some of the issues
covered. Most days I take for granted the rights we have as Americans to
vote. But when I go to the polling place and stand in those plastic
cubicles with my ballot, I'm struck by just how lucky I am to have the
privilege to let my voice be heard. I think of the people who died on
American and foreign soil to make sure we kept that right. I think of
the women who so desperately wanted to vote but couldn't because it was
against the law. And almost every time I vote, I see someone who had to
struggle to get there to vote; people with aged faces and stooped backs
who would not be denied their privilege to vote. One year I waited to
vote because they had taken the sign-in book out to the parking lot to
someone who could not make it into the building. Despite his immobility, That man's vote was counted. And today, even if the candidates and issues I
put my mark next to don't end up the victor once all the ballots are
tallied, my vote was counted and I hope to be one of those people with
an aged face and stooped back making my voice heard as long as I'm on
this earth.
Lisa-Jo Baker (lisajobaker.com) hosts a weekly event on her blog called "Five Minute Friday". The rules are 1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking. 2. Link back here and invite others to join in. 3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. So here's my first try at this. Today's topic was Roots. Roots – I think about my grandparents who lived on a farm until my grandfather’s diabetes worsened and they moved to a town with a hospital nearby. My father still says he wished he could have kept that farm. I think of my grandmother who was a widow for 20 years. Every year she would stand over my PaPa’s grave, wishing she was with him. I think of my parents, a product of those grandparents, how hard my father worked to put 2 girls through
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