After Cub was taken to school, I bundled up the girls in hats and coats. I hoisted our massive double-jogger into the van and unlocked the wheels and removed them so it would fit. I packed my purse with snacks, filled a sippy cup, pulled on my own coat and scarf, and loaded everything into the van. When we got to our polling station, I unfolded the (massive) double-jogger, attached the wheels, stashed snacks in the pockets, unbuckled the girls from their car seats, carried one then the other to the jogger and buckled them in, closed the van doors, locked it, took a deep breath, and pushed the jogger towards the building.
An elderly gentleman stopped us along the way and knelt down to peek at the girls. He smiled and talked sweetly to them, looked up at me, and tipped his hat. It was then that I actually took notice of his hat, and saw that he was a WWII veteran. I grasped his hand and said, "Thank you" with tears in my eyes.
For all of the "work" that it took me to get my little ones to the polling station this morning, this gentleman's presence was humbling and poignant--his life, sacrificing who knows what, experiencing the unthinkable ...
... all for me.
To keep my freedom.
To keep my rights.
I know he heard my words, but my true gratitude was shown by taking my girls and exercising the right that he fought for, for me. A stranger.
Go vote today, friends. Our friends around the world do not necessarily have that luxury. And yours was paid for, dearly.
Have a lovely day.