My grandchildren were somewhere in the overhead tubes at the Great Wolf Water Park in the Poconos of Pennsylvania when I took advantage of an opportunity to have a beer. My first bride was shepherding our grandbeauties through a gushing, twisting thrill-ride, one that I had opted out of: too high in the air. I had noticed a Samuel Adams sign at Grizzly Bob’s, a small bar near the wave pool, and slid onto a stool. “I’ll have a Sam Adams,” I told the bartender. “$7,” she replied, collecting the cash before she went to the spigot.
There were not many guests at the little bar, and most of them were at tables close to the railing that overlooked the busy pool, perhaps watching over family and friends in the waves. Maybe it was this slight attendance emboldened the young lady behind the bar, who came to me after I’d had a few sips, and asked, “So: who are you voting for?” I smiled at her, and declined to answer, and she proceeded to tell me for whom she was pulling and why. She was earnest and passionate, and seemed knowledgeable about the issues facing the country. She lamented “the media’s” biased coverage of her candidate, claiming that “they all say (her candidate) cannot win.” I smiled, and covered The Weekly View logo on the shirt I was wearing. I told her that not all of “the media” was claiming that her candidate could not prevail, and suggested that some accurate reportage of “total delegate counts” might be interpreted to mean that the candidate has little chance. I suggested that when she heard that her candidate “had no chance,” the baying might be designed to discourage voters with whom she was aligned.
In 2008, my 18-year-old niece decided that she was going to support a national candidate, and she went all in. She had previously been active at the local level, doing volunteer work for the Senator who represented her district. She is not a follower, but an independent thinker, one who researched various religious ideologies before she settled on one that met her needs. Her energy got me off the couch in 2008, and continues to inspire me, today.
That young woman behind the bar in the Pocono Mountains told me that many of her friends were opting out of the political process, believing that their votes do not count. I did not cough up clichés about “for want of one vote, a ship was sunk” (which was good, because that analogy would not have floated) but I suggested to her that participation in the process can contribute to the success of the process. Opting out of voting is not the same as walking away from a junked car, and one should not complain about the results of an event that was deemed unimportant at the time.
I have “friends” of her age in my social media feed, many of whom are displaying an ardent advocacy for that young lady’s chosen candidate. I am heartened by that display of commitment, for if the political process is indeed, “fixed,” or “rigged,” then these are the people who can patch the holes and right the ship. Before I left my seat in front of that young lady, I downed the last of that draught of Sam, and placing my glass on the bar, told her to vote, and bring her friends into the fold of participation. “I will,” she said. “I am excited.”
Let’s all join that young lady on May 3rd. and vote, whether with, or for, or against.
Vote.