The point is, for the privilege of it.
And naturally yesterday morning those, I told you so, emails floated in since now we have a Republican Congress, but I’m still happy I voted.
I worked on Tuesday way out in Brooklyn, and when I came dragging home, the last thing I wanted was to go to PS 6, the school across from me, to vote.
But I did anyway.
When I got there, I went to the desk to sign my name, but made the error of hesitating by saying, “I’m pretty sure this is my district.” All this gigantic redhead had to do was peruse the Bs, but she says, “I’m sorry, you need to go back in the hall and find out the number before we can look you up.”
See, right there is where I could have SO easily have said, “Fuck you…I just won’t vote then,” but resentfully did what she said.
I pushed myself ahead of the crowd, so unlike me, and shouted out my address. A very calm looking man without looking up said, “71”.
So I march back to Ms Hospitality and say, “71, like I thought.”
“What’s your name?” I hand her my license. She scans it, hands it back.
“What’s your name again?” I wanted to slam her so hard. My feet ached from standing all day. My hearing is down, and I sound like Tallullah Bankhead from all the plaster dust I’ve inhaled, BUT…was determined to vote, and this is why.
I vote whether it’s for the presidency or for some little guy running as dogcatcher, for all the women who marched tirelessly who never saw the vote in their lifetime.
Women who were laughed at and heckled, mocked and booed…quite often beaten and arrested kept out of places by condescending men, yet stood vigil, despite the abuse so their presence would be known.
We take equal rights for granted because of them.
These ladies, Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, to name two, got me the right to put in my two cents, and no one…not even a woman the size of a Buick will keep me from exercising my constitutional right.
God Bless the Nineteenth Amendment ratified August 18, 1920.
My only regret is not writing this sooner.