I wasn’t excited about this presidential election campaign or year until yesterday. During the afternoon, I fell asleep suddenly and had a mini-dream of voting on Tuesday. That dream caused my heart to race and me to wake up every bit as suddenly as I’d fallen asleep. My most immediate thought: I have to vote!

Don’t get me wrong. I was going to vote on Tuesday. But yesterday’s declaration was one of urgency. I have to vote or die a million deaths for removing myself from the process. I can’t afford to do that.

Voting has been an integral part of my journey to 50. I come from a long line of politically active and passionate people. My grandfather was a staunch Democrat and my grandmother was a Lincoln Republican and their passions ran deep. As a little girl, my grandfather would take me to various campaign headquarters to stuff envelopes and  perform other duties. I even as a small girl campaigned for Carl Stokes when he became the first black mayor of Cleveland and on election night I witnessed people literally dancing in the streets. It was like the fourth of July.

All that enthusiasm carried me to my teen years when in the spring of 1976 I registered to vote in my high school library. That was an exciting event for me. I remember discussing it with my grandparents the night before and they were excited for me. That was the year 18 years old received the right to vote. Though I was 17, the rules enabled me to register and vote in the primary as long as I would be 18 by the general election. 

Tonight, I revealed to Nan that this is the first presidential election I haven’t volunteered on a regular basis. 

In Charles and Irene Doss’s house, once you were old enough to vote, some rules changed. I could no longer criticize the government or policies unless I voted. I wasn’t allowed to utter an opinion about anything involving the political process or social conditions unless I voted. 

I value those values. Plus, I’d rather die than not have the ability to flex my voice or my vote… Because somebody – many bodies died for my rights.

Peace, Robin

fiftydaystofifty@gmail.com