Election Day

This presidential election will be our family’s first without our father who died suddenly last November. Not just an armchair politico, our father was a man of action. He was campaigning long before it was the politically chic thing to do. From sign painting to driving folks to the polls and just plain outspokenness on the issues, no doubt, he would have had strong opinions about this election. The issues facing our country today are issues that he felt strongly about and believed in.

As the breakneck speed of the final days of the election draws near one of the more lasting memories I have of him grows stronger and stronger and I can’t stop thinking of it. I know that he would have been watching the pundits and non-stop campaign reporting. I know he would have been active in his local community, talking politics, distributing the necessary signage, bumper stickers, buttons or direct mail pieces. Also, he would have maintained an open phone line to our cousin, his niece, the political activist in the family who would keep him abreast of any of the latest campaign buzz she was privy to. But phone conversations were sometimes uncomfortable with him as he most likely get worked up about the latest issues or news report. But then true to form, the day before the election would be upon us and we could always count on the phone call to admonish to his children the same message every time: “Make sure you vote!”

Growing up in Nashville, our neighborhood precinct also happened to be at our neighborhood elementary school. When this day rolled around, we knew that no matter if it were the local, state or national election, it was an important day in our house. Our dad would take his three daughters to school on that day – an exciting event in itself and park far away from the front door of Margaret Allen Elementary in Donelson.

Then we would walk through the gauntlet of the encampments set up by the candidates’ representatives who were handing out buttons and bumper stickers and begging for your vote. I often wonder now if it really makes a difference this late in the game, but traditions are traditions and sometimes maybe it is that last push for some that gets the vote. Once, I noticed a smile on his face as he walked confidently ahead of us as if he were the candidate himself and he knew his man was going to win. Folks on both sides of the school yard knew him and stopped him as he passed and many times he worked both political parties glad-handing and bantering about the issues and candidates and most times he knew more about the candidates and their platforms than the folks sitting in the November sun campaigning ever knew about them.

We stood quietly beside him and he loudly greeted the election volunteers who registered him. He introduced us to them (he knew them too) and he thanked them for being there. My sisters and I were 7 years apart so by the time he took me to school to vote – they were off to Junior High. I felt like a big shot alone in his presence, so important. Because he took this so seriously and believe me, it was honor to get a personal civic lesson from you father. He taught each of us that you take your right to vote seriously and you never ever miss that opportunity.

While waiting our turn for a booth, he again was talking to the kind gentlemen taking the white slips of paper – he was careful not to talk about the election itself – but instead would talk about the voter turnout or the college football scene.

When our turn came, he would escort us in the voting booth and instruct us to close the curtain. I can still remember the gentle but strong touch as he put his strong hand over my little one and help me pull the heavy arm to close the curtain behind us. Then he would pick me up, hold me in his arms and take his time to carefully explain the choices in a low voice. It was no secret to anyone who knew our father how he was going to the vote- he was a dedicated member of his party and totally proud and outspoken about it. Although we knew he was going to vote the party line and not cross over the divide delineating one party from the next, he still took the time to tell us about the candidates and any referendums on the ballot.

He would whisper in my ear and point towards the lever to pull and I proudly did it for each choice he made, knowing that somehow each vote counted towards something hugely important beyond our safe haven of our little neighborhood. When we finished, he would again help me pull the metal arm to open the curtains and to lock in our votes. I always felt a feeling of great accomplishment that I just helped my father do something extremely important in not only his life but for the life of our country.

After he walked me back to my third grade class one year, I watched for him through the classroom window to emerge outside and walk back to his car. His swagger was full of purpose, I could see him as he walked back to the candidates’ encampments and again argued some issues, shook hands, gestured wildly to make a point (political I’m sure) and laughed along with members of both parties. I’ll never forget how proud I was of him.

Once in college I had the exciting experience of being an election pollster for a local radio station for the 1988 presidential election. We stood at the polls and waited as they closed to the voting public. Then as the precinct officials closed the school doors after the polls closed, it was exciting to watch them huddle amongst themselves and then listen with the other pollsters and campaign reps as they called out the results to us. Afterwards, we literally ran to our cars and squealed out of the parking lot in search of a phone booth to call in the results! After I finished that call, I immediately called my father to tell him how the precinct had voted.

I minored in political science and thought briefly about a career path in that arena, but now I watch the campaign from afar, yet still try to stay informed the best way that I can and read the news on the internet and watch the debates. I have been involved in one national campaign, but I’m not as politically loud as my father or other members of our extended family have been in their parties.

Whenever I have moved out of my voting precinct, one of the first things I do is to change my voter registration. I would feel so guilty if I didn’t vote. I would feel as if I would be letting myself down and probably letting my father down too. I learned early from those days by my father’s side in the voting booth that voting is not something you take lightly. It is a privilege that in his words “you should never, I repeat, never take for granted.”

I’ve only participated in early voting opportunities once; I admit it was a time saver and a great tool in modern day elections. However, I prefer to go on Election Day because it’s a family tradition. There is something unique and exciting about participating in the buzz and rush that the whole nation is experiencing together.

I don’t care if Tim Russert is projecting Tennessee as a red state or a blue state on Meet the Press, or what way it is being counted towards the Electoral College. It’s simple – I have to vote. Whether I’m voting blue, red, gray, (never green - Daddy would have had a cow) or otherwise, my vote counts and you’ll see me at the voting booth.

This year I’ll be a brand new face in my voting precinct and I will not know any of the faces of the election volunteers who register me or show me to the booth. I will, however, thank them kindly and be patient if there is a long line because that’s what my father taught me to do. They are giving up a day in our lives for us to exercise our right to vote. I will only smile and wave at the diehard campaign volunteers trying to sway my ideology to the bitter end of my very important vote, but I will not stop and debate any of them.

I’ve decided that the best thing I could possibly do to honor my father’s life and this important family tradition on Election Day on the anniversary of his death is to take my five year old daughter with me to the polls. We will walk through the gauntlet of politicos, stand quietly in line to register and hopefully she will notice how many other people are doing it. It is my wish that the magnitude of it all makes an impression on her like it did for me and my sisters. When it’s our turn to enter the booth, I’m going to let her push the button to close the curtains and lovingly hold her in my arms like he used to do with his daughters and let her push the buttons and cast our votes.

On November 1st, the day before Election Day, which is Tuesday, November 2nd, I’ll hope you’ll remember my father’s famous words “Make sure you vote!” Because I know, my daughter, my sisters and I will loud and clear.

Author's Note: This essay was written in October 2004.