The polling place was the Lions Club just a few blocks from our house, always staffed with silver-haired citizens from a time when civic duty was takenvery seriously. My Mom would step in to the booth, slide closed the heavy drapery smelling slightly of the dust that had collected since the last election, carefully make her selections and pull the handle of the (now infamous) punch card machine. She always voted, and I always got to be there. Sometimes she would let me pull the handle, breaking the rules I'm sure.
I haven't missed voting in an election since I turned 18, all through school making my decisions based on the huge envelope of clippings Mom sent and carefully completing my absentee ballot. These days my polling place is the recreation center at the top of my street, perfect for walking to with a cup of coffee. Its always staffed by members of the Orlando Ball
et, whom I understand have taken on the responsibility for many years. I walk up to a booth that reminds me of a plastic version of the carrels from my high school library, and I carefully make my selections and fill in the bubble with a black pen.
Today my daughter went with me.