My husband is in charge of our polling location. It is something he has felt passionately about and committed to for 20 years. It is an incredible responsibility and I admire and respect him greatly. The Saturday before each election, the materials needed are delivered to our home, the Monday night before, he and a friend go to the polling location to set up the tables and machines in the configuration that Mister Rain has found most efficient. Election Day the alarm goes off at 4:00 am, a half hour later he is out the door with all the supplies, as well as drinks and sandwiches for himself and a batch of brownies for his team. When the polls close at 8 pm, he and his crew count the votes, he packs up then drives a half hour each way to our county courthouse to do the drop-off. He returns home around 10 pm with an aching back and sore feet. And, I hope, pride at what he has done for our country.
My husband is as laid back as they come. I asked him the day prior to the election if he was nervous about his duties. Without hesitation, he replied, “No.” I then questioned if he was worried about the outcome. A nanosecond of pause was followed by another, “No.” He headed to the bathroom for his shower, I continued working on some things on my iPad from the comfort of our bed. He returned shortly after, “It was on the wrong number,” he declared. I had no idea what he was talking about. I could see that he was holding something in his left hand, he repeated, “It was on the wrong number.” He thrust his left hand forward, but I couldn’t see what was in it. “I went to trim my goat but the trimmer is on the wrong number. I shaved off a good portion of my goatee.” “Can you fix it???,” trying to hide my panic. He then uttered his third of its kind, “No.” The rest of the facial hair was removed, as was a bit of Mister Rain’s unflappable demeanor.
We all know the weight of this year’s election. I can’t remember ever receiving so many texts, phone calls and knocks on the door leading up to the big day. I was hostile to the endless messages arriving on my phone. And then the Sunday before November 5th, I recognized the number of an incoming call to be election-related. I answered, ready to unload. The woman was obviously older and very nice. All animosity left me as I had an epiphany. This person felt so strongly about this decision we would make as a nation that she was opening herself up to all sorts of unpredicatable reactions with each dialing. In that moment I also understood that she was no different than my husband, her resolute belief in the process and candidates mattered more than the the long day, the unknown factor of who will pick up your call or be in line to cast their ballot.
On the day before Election Day, I was home alone when there was a knock on the door. My instinct was to be angry, I knew what they wanted, but my newfound comprehension of steadfast dedication erased my knee-jerk reaction. I answered the door, and the woman standing on my porch introduced herself as Sarah from Maine. I replied, “We were just in Maine in May.” “Oh, isn’t it beautiful there?”, she asked, turning to look at the view from the front of our house. “It’s very pretty here too.” She said she was looking for Mister Rain, I had already voted by mail but he had not. “He isn’t here but he’s the Judge of Elections for our polling location.” “So he’ll vote on Tuesday?,” she confirmed. “Yes, he always casts the last vote before they close.” “We both are for XX,” I added.
I inquired where she was staying while here. “My daughter took a semester off from college to work for the XX campaign. I came to help. We’re all staying in (a town about 30 minutes away) in a barn on our host family’s property.” I thanked her for what she was doing. “It takes a village,” were her final words to me. I would have loved to invite her in for a cup of coffee, but she had important work to do.
I have made it clear in so many stories how I feel about this country. I learned something new this election season, something I should have known all along. America is still a land of ardent, intensely concerned and faithful people. We are not so far removed from Paul Revere warning that the British were coming, the Sons of Liberty at the ready to fight for what they felt complete freedom of doubt.
“Let me ask you, sir, when is the time
for brave men to exert themselves
in the cause of liberty and their country,
if this is not?”
— George Washington
Thank you Mister Rain, the group who worked with him, the woman on the phone, Sarah.
They all get my vote.
#sisterrain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindwriter #theyallgetmyvote
