I am almost 49 years old, and I voted for the first time in my life yesterday. It’s not that I have been disinterested all these years. Being a Belgian citizen living the United States, it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world for me to vote for Belgian issues; not at all impossible, mind you, but I didn’t really know what was going on out there, and the last thing I wanted to do was guess. So right or wrong, I abstained…
I becam a US citizen last October, and I got my voter’s registration card a couple of months later. Yesterday was my first opportunity to vote.
The little community center was almost when my husband and I entered the building. There were three women seated behind a table, and one man voting. I didn’t even really know what to do. One woman asked for my name, checked my ID, handed me my ballot and pointed to the voting booth. The process was quite self-explanatory, I must say, but somehow it was most emotional for me. For the very first time in my life, I had a say in governmental issues. Yes, my voice does count.
I blackened my circles carefully and walked my ballot over to the machine that swallowed it. Voter # 240 it said. I almost cried. I am a US citizen indeed. This is the proof in the pudding. Or the ballot.

Advertisements