18

On May 14th, 1987, I celebrated my 18th birthday. There was no big party, no cake. I had something better. I had my temporary voter registration card. It was a moment I'd been looking forward to since mom took me to the polls with her before I started school.

I remember the voting place in the basement of Long School. We walked to the school, and there were people everywhere. I remember the orange and black fall out shelter sign. It was the first one I'd ever noticed. I asked mom what it meant. I could read, of course, but that sign made no sense. I imagined people falling out of the world, and falling into the school. Mom said it meant that in an emergency, people could go to the school for shelter and food. That gave me plenty to think about as mom worked her way through the crowd and talked to some people at a table. Then she took me to the voting booth.
I regret the loss of those old voting booths. They were a great place for a fertile imagination. Behind a curtain was a box full of levers. Somehow flipping those levers recorded your vote. But to a child, it was a space ship -a time machine -a magic box of fun.
Mom wouldn't let me flip any levers.
She said it was her time to vote, and I couldn't touch the levers until I was 18. Nobody wanted to grow up faster than me that day.
Unfortunately, time moves at it's own pace; and I had to wait 14 years for my own chance to vote. The old lever booths were gone by then. My first vote was recorded on a yellow punch card that was slid into a book. How dissappointing! I didn't even get to go behind a curtain. My vote was cast at a crappy wire podium. There was no privacy, and no magic.
But I always vote anyway. I'm an optimist. I believe my vote could, just maybe, make a difference.
*grunts while pulling out soap box*
Your vote could make a difference. You'll never know if you don't vote.
*puts soap box away*