Politics

Last Tuesday was primary day in Virginia. My daughter, Polly, and I rode to Red Hill Elementary School on Route 29-S, our assigned voting location, about 10 miles away. As I drove past a church close to my home, about half a mile down the road, I shook my head. It, too, was a voting location. Why can’t I vote there? I asked myself many years ago.

The county person in charge of such matters sounded shocked beyond belief when I asked her that question. “You can’t just decide where you want to vote. The district lines are drawn and you have to vote inside them.”

“But my voting place is 10 miles away. The church is less than a mile from my house,” politely, I pressed her further.

“You can’t vote outside your district,” she repeated impatiently.

I didn’t think it would work, trying to change my voting place. Yet, I was curious to have that conversation. I believe, of course, that all commissions have their skanky and probably bordering-on-illegal ability to manipulate district boundaries. Simply, that’s the way it is and it offends my sense of right and wrong. Unfortunately, right or wrong is rarely what politics is about.

I thanked her for talking with me and broke our connection. I shook my head and inhaled deeply, needing some extra oxygen. In my mind, I imagined just a tiny curvy line on a map that would include me in the closer district, and wouldn’t that be nice? But, of course, I must let it go. What is, is. For now.

So on that primary day afternoon, as I have done every voting day for a decade, I drove by the church. Once more, I wondered if any of those people had to drive 10 miles out of their way to make the political underground system work. But then, as always, I forgot it. Polly and I arrived at Red Hill, where we talked with the greeters. Years ago, when I lived in another town, I was a greeter/poll watcher. It was fun.

We had pleasant conversation on the lovely day. We learned voter turnout was low this day, as we voted in a runoff for Albemarle County Sheriff. “One candidate is a sure bet,” Polly told me. The greeter also said this, although he didn’t say who.

Polly and I pulled open one of the double glass doors into the school’s main entrance. We smiled at familiar faces at the tables, and at the folks standing behind the tables where we’d mark our vote on a ballot and enter it into the counting machine. After my ballot disappeared into the machine, the tall man handed me an “I Voted” sticker. I patted it onto my shirt, then watched as Polly ran her ballot through the machine. She thanked the man who gave her the “I Voted” sticker. We left.

Outside, the man at the greeter table had lots more to talk about. Polly engaged in conversation with him; she knew him from working with him in some way linked to her recent store purchase. We talked at length and I clearly heard that he had several opportunities to help out the party. I tucked that notion away for now. My plate is very full of wonderful things to do.

My daughter and I walked to the car as I happily inhaled the beautiful day. As I opened my driver door, I looked left, past a vacant spot between us, to see a woman in a wheelchair preparing to push herself up and into her passenger seat. A thin, grey-haired man stood nearby, ready to give any assistance she might have needed. She paused when she caught my eye and said, “That’s a great sticker on your car.”

Smiling, because I loved the magnet she spoke of, I said, “Thank you for telling me that.” I paused briefly and added, “Because, you’ve told me something else, too – that you are a kind person.” Then, she locked eyes with me and raised her eyebrows, then half-smiled and slowly nodded.

I had just connected with a woman with kindness in her heart, always a special moment. “It’s an honor to meet a kind woman.” I walked over to her and we hugged. I wished her a beautiful day.

As I returned to my car, I hoped we’d cross paths one day again. Yet, if we should not, I knew I’d always remember this day. Mostly, for the kindness in her eyes, a loveliness that can rise only from a deep beauty within. While she lifted herself into the passenger seat, her companion folded her wheelchair and stowed it, then entered the car. When they backed away, she and I smiled at each other.

I went on to muse how, on first glance, anyone might see her as handicapped and see no further. I smiled as I reflected how, after a mere few words, she had opened and shared a rich value. The notion of any disability disappeared as our common bond became clear. She possessed kindness, so often a hard-won value. Moreover, I personally view kindness as wealth beyond measure.

In contrast, I recalled my earlier niggling political irritations. I decided that my new kind acquaintance and our few moments were the most important, memorable part of the day.