History repeating itself....

My Dad always took me with him to the polls when he voted. It was waiting in the line that often wound down the two story stairwell and spilled out into the echoey hallway of the town office that I learned that women were denied the right to vote until 1920. The waiting in line, the sound of my Dad's name called out by the clerk, the tiny little booth, and the wooden padlocked box with it's little mail drop opening, it was all so romantic to me. Since turning 18 I haven't ever missed voting in an election.

I waited until Greta got home from school and then took her and Simon to vote with me today. The lines were significant, which I explained to Greta was a good thing (despite Simon's squirminess) because people cared to wait. There I was with my own children and all of the things I remembered about the experience but through their eyes. The lines, the booths, and the now electronic deposit box. I promised Greta my sticker that said "I Voted Today", but either there weren't any, or our swift escape with a very loud Simon made us miss them. I don't think she left with any new appreciation for the democratic process, but it was really important to me that she was there.