Vote, baby, Vote!

Since I was driving past my polling place, and since I found a place to park nearby, and since I had my democrat cheat-sheet; I voted.

My polling place is the Randall Museum, which is also some kind of afterschool program and there were lots of minivans in the parking lot and lots of kids about.

While I was voting I overheard one little girl asking about a million questions of the very patient poll master (or whatever they are called). Where do the ballots come from? Do they make them there? What do they do with the old ones? How much do they cost.

He patiently explained how it worked and why it was so important. I actually started to tear up a bit.

When it came time to feed the ballot into the reader I asked if the little girl could do it for me. She was thrilled (and so was I).