My Fellow Americans

We are so divided as a nation.  I kept thinking that I should do something about it. I just didn’t know what I could do. Then, I began to remember the tools of my twelve-step program. If I were to think like a twelve-stepper, I would need to accept that I can’t change another person. The only influence that I have is over myself. 

My daughter forwarded me an NPR article about there being a shortage of poll workers because of Covid-19. Many times, poll workers are older and the fear of being in public where they would be vulnerable to the virus caused many longtime workers to decide to sit this cycle out. I clicked on the link attached to the article and filled out the application.

A week or two later, I got an email thanking me for applying, letting me know that if my county had a need, someone would get in touch with me. They probably won’t need me, I thought. Then about six weeks before the election, I was notified that I would be needed and that I would have to attend a training session.

A couple of weeks after that, I did my training and received my ‘Election Official’ t-shirt. The night before the election, I clicked on a link that was provided to me to refresh my memory on how to perform my job, packed my lunch and snacks and a set my alarm for 4:30 am.

I arrived at my one-day job in the dark. The fellow in charge wanted to begin setting up the voting machines. He needed two Republicans and two Democrats to witness this exercise on each of the seven voting machines that we had. Three signatures (one Democrat, one Republican and the chairman) would confirm that each machine started with zero votes.

I was surprised by how well thought out this system is. I worried that the division might carry itself into this job too. I began to see that our election process has great integrity. I am old enough to remember seeing members of opposing parties working together. This new job helped me remember those times.

The current rift is painful for me to see. I yearn for healing for our country. Yet I can’t change anyone. I can’t make them see things the way that I see them. They can’t make me see things the way they see them. We’ve been trying to do that for years. We are at an impasse. Perhaps we are looking at the wrong things…

This system of voting we have is pretty cool. Despite the bickering on television, on the local level where you go to vote, it was just a job, carried out by everyday Americans as it has been since voting began with great respect and care for the process. As the day wore on, it came to my mind that this group of people were bigger than party—they were my fellow Americans.

My coworkers and I celebrated every first-time voter. Often, I’d do a double take on their picture and birthdate. Surely, they are only sixteen, I’d think. Every time, they’d be nineteen or twenty. They looked so young. I probably looked really old to them. Still they were there, proud of the fact that they were exercising their right to vote. One first-time voter was a grandma, brought in by her granddaughter. Grandma was just as proud as any of the eighteen-year-olds. These new voters are my fellow Americans.

We loved meeting the children, brought in by their parents to witness this historic event. I’m not sure how much they understood, but most of them liked the ‘I voted’ sticker at the end. One group of kids brought red, white and blue suckers to each and every poll worker. These future voters are my fellow Americans.

A couple of people wore their candidate’s t-shirt or button into the polling location. I asked if they’d mind covering them up while they voted. Each person apologized for forgetting and complied with the rules. They are my fellow Americans.

The biggest hurdle were the folks that showed up at the wrong polling place. We helped them find where they were supposed to go. We printed off that location and called ahead to move them to the front of the line since they’d already waited with us. Most everyone left happy. They are my fellow Americans.

I can count on one hand the number of people that left mad. My coworkers tried hard to hear their concerns. I was so impressed with the way they really seemed to care about every person there. Every single vote mattered. Even the mad folks are my fellow Americans

As darkness returned at the end of the day, I watched a couple as they walked out of the door. The man’s left hand holding his cane. His right hand rested on the small part of his wife’s bent over back. She managed to maneuver her rolling walker over the door’s threshold with his guiding hand. It was as if they were one cohesive unit leaving the polling place. 

“Well Mama, you think that was our last time to vote?” He asked.

I didn’t hear her response. I think I was too startled by the question. He didn’t pose his question as a joke.  It was matter of fact and seemed evident that they had accepted their stage in life. These folks were probably very close in age to the two men running for president. Watching the scene unfold, I thought to myself, these are my American brothers and sisters—my fellow Americans. 

I have been so moved by my experience. I realize that every election cycle someone will be disappointed by the outcome. Someone will be celebrating. The constant is that we are all one American family. I pray we can remember that.