I voted Monday the 3rd, so that I could watch the kids tonight while my wife stands in line for her chance to help make history - and more importantly - a great big change. And... I did a little extra, too...
Two and a half hours I stood in line. Everyone seemed cheerful and buoyant about the wait; seriously, there was very little grumbling. We entertained ourselves and each other. At one point, while standing next to a bulletin board at the Sun Prairie, Wisconsin city hall, I spotted a notice tacked among all the ads for community events. It said, "Notice: Advertisements and solicitation for services are not allowed on this board. All such items will be removed immediately."
Taking pen to paper, I made a sign and tacked it to the board beside the notice. It said, "Wanted: Someone to remove this advertisement soliciting someone's services in removing this item."
But that wasn't the great part. The woman in front of me had been forced to bring her toddler along, as she was a single mother with no one to help her in the way my wife and I worked out our voting arrangements. For two and a half hours, she had done a heroic job of keeping the little fella amused, and not, say, shrieking, crying, destroying everything near him, and kicking people. If you have kids, you understand the effort she made on our collective behalf.
As we wound through the makeshift rat-maze of traffic cones and nylon rope, we talked about children, voting early, and having to re-register due to moving. (For those not in the know, Wisconsin has same-day registration)
Finally, our trek reached it's climax, and with a quick grin, she pushed her son's stroller up to the counter, announcing her intention to register and vote.
Oh, shit, I thought as a sympathetic mix of fear and sadness stole over the city employee's face while examining the young mother's ID and proof of residence.
"I'm sorry," she said, and truly looked the part. "None of these are acceptable as proof of residence. You would need a state ID with the correct address or a utility bill with..."
Honestly, I didn't catch much, because the look on the mother's face was heartbreaking. It hardened, not into anger, but into a mask I've seen before: Don't cry, it said. Not in front of all these people. Keep it together.
And then words fell from the city employee's lips that penetrated my sympathetic fog: "...or a witness to confirm residency-"
That was all I needed to hear. "Excuse me," I said, stepping forward. "You mean if I know her, and know that she lives where she lives, then-"
"Yes!" the city worker stepped in, looking relieved. "If you can do that-"
"Done," I cut in. "I know," I said, stealing a glance at the yellow forwarding sticker on one of the envelopes she'd brought, "Daenae and I know she lives at (address gleaned from same-said envelope). I helped her move," I said, lying through my teeth at this last part, but I'd be damned if this poor lady and her son had trudged through two and a half hours for nothing. Honestly, I didn't catch her name, but after two and a half hours of talking, I was pretty sue she wasn't an illegal alien, a terrorist, or that Canadian dude who pranked Sarah Palin.
Happily, the city employee, busied herself with preparing the young mother's ballot. Daenae smiled, eyes shining a liquid brown, and whispered, "Thank you."
"If you end up voting for McCain," I whispered back, "I'm going to be very angry with myself." This was a joke. I'd seen her Obama '08 sticker on her son's stroller.
After thanking me repeatedly with increasingly less control of her emotions, she and her toddler went off to cast their vote. Being next in line, I was given a flashing smile from the city employee.
"Thank you," she said, and her tone told me that she had grave doubts as to the veracity of my claims, and could have cared less. "I didn't want to have to send her away empty handed."
I winked, took my ballot, and toddled off to vote straight-ticket Republican.
Just kidding.