Twenty years ago, on November 5th, 1996, three days before my 20th birthday, I got to vote in my first presidential election. I was young, politically naive, and barely knew anything about the candidates, but I knew one thing — Bill Clinton had helped all of us. I had a good job, I was making more money than I ever had before, and I was happy. I proudly cast my ballot for William Jefferson Clinton, and proudly watched his inauguration, the first I had had a hand in bringing about.
Now, almost exactly twenty years later, I get to vote again. Since that first ballot cast, I have voted in every local, mid-term and presidential election I could. I see voting as my duty, my right and my privilege. I’m trying to instill those same ideals in my boys, ages 8 and (almost) 6. I know they don’t understand everything, and I wouldn’t expect them to, but I want to start early, and have taught them that this is their personal choice — no one can tell them who to vote for, no one can tell them they can’t vote.
As I said, now I get to vote again. I’ve been through five presidential campaigns, lived through eight years of anti-intellectual, faux-patriotism with Bush, and gotten to experience what a truly remarkable human being and President Obama has been. I believe I’ve seen the best and the worst — and now I get to vote again.
I get to vote, on my 40th birthday, for the wife of the man I voted for the first time. I get to help make history by electing one of the most experienced, prepared people ever to run for that office. I will be holding off from eating my birthday cheesecake that night until after 8 p.m. locally, which is when the polls close here in Washington.
And I will go to sleep that night, entering a new decade of life, knowing that I’ve helped make history.