From whence I learned the importance of voting

After last night's heartening events, I opened my inbox this morning to celebratory e-mails from both my mom and dad. (If there was one thing that they could usually agree on, it was the "fucking Republicans.") My dad sent word that my little sister, currently ensconced in Florida, cast her first vote yesterday. I'll admit it: I got a little choked up. I love voting. It makes me proud. It makes me righteous. And sometimes, it even makes me hopeful. I've been casting my ballot since I turned 18, but I only have a vague recollection of that first vote. However, my first memory of the voting process is crystal-clear. When I was about 4, my mom went to vote and brought us all along. Back then in Ohio, you had actual voting booths, with these hard plastic curtain/door things. Being the inquisitive and small 4-year-old that I was, when my mom went into the secret booth, I crawled in behind her -- because I could fit under the door/curtain. Upon entry to the hidden place, I realized it was boring, and I quickly decided to back out. On my way out, I lifted my head prematurely and crack! Man, that fucking hurt. Despite fervent belief that my head had actually split open, my mom cast her vote that day. Plus, the polling lady gave me a lollipop. This rambling story has been brought to you by the letter D and the color blue.