Voting in a Tiny Town

I arrived at the high school at 6:00 AM- sharp - and heard the "hear ye, hear ye, the polls are now open." There were enough people from my town of about 2,000 who had braved the cold wet weather - to make me wait in line a full 30 seconds before I was able to proceed. I pulled out my driver's license with my photo and picked up my paper ballot.

There is something comforting and "homey" about voting in a small town. I saw the same poll workers I see every election... especially the four sisters - Norma Jean, Sue Ellen, Milda, and Myra Sue.

Milda lost her son in a plane crash about ten years ago. He was a good friend of mine in high school.

Four years ago, when I moved back home and voted the first time, Milda came up to me and hugged me and held my face in her hands. The look she gave me, I'm sure, was full of memories of her boy. It made me want to stand up straight - watch my language - and be a better man than I probably am.

Small town accountability.

The Democrats gerrymandered us into a pretty inconsequential ballot, but our turn-out will still be much better than the national average. Voting is a social event - and it feels good.

The school smelled the same.