Yesterday, April 3, 2012 brought us the Primary Election for Wisconsin. Not only did I have to adjust to a new “polling place” (this changed from a school to a church. I find it ironic that we are voting in a church considering the whole “separation of church and state.”), but I also had three 18 year old young men with me. One of my sons was anxious to become a registered voter. My other son “declined” to get involved, yet decided to joke around with people in the parking lot asking them who they voted for, which I told him he COULDN’T do, no matter how charming he thought he was. Then there was my nephew, who also really wanted to register to vote. As a side note right here I have to say I found turning 18 rather anti-climatic, yet these kids find simple joy in the fact that they can legally purchase lottery tickets, get a checking account, and vote.
Back to my nephew though…. I told him he was welcome to ride along, but since he did not live in our neighborhood, and in fact not even the City of Green Bay, it was doubtful they would let him register to vote at our polling venue. Still, I have to hand it to him, he tried. He almost pulled a fast one, as the nice elderly woman who was helping the boys was asking about his address. Of course he handed her a check stub of his with his address on it (his main concern being she would know how much he made, rather than the fact that he wasn’t in the appropriate place to register). And finally she noticed it, saying “Oh, you can’t register here! You live in Suamico!” He did that “Awww seriously! Darn it!” thing that teenagers do when she told him. Of course the worker called many different places to give him the information about where he SHOULD go. As she was doing this, Zak, my nephew was taking cookies off of the “snack table.” (Wow, I am kind of liking this voting at a church, because you get a small meal while you are there!) I walked up to him and said “I told you that you couldn’t vote here because you don’t live here.” I asked him if he knew where to go in Suamico to vote. He said “Yea, but it doesn’t matter, I am not driving ALL THE WAY to Suamico just to vote.” With a perplexed look on my face I said, “Um yea, but Zak, you LIVE in Suamico. Eventually you have to go home.” He said, “Well I just want to hang out with my cuz’s right now instead.” It’s a shame that the voter registration workers didn’t buy into the “home is where the heart is or where your cousins live” theory.
Myself, I did get to vote, and they didn’t even check my I.D. to verify I was who I said I was. But you know what, if they had asked me for it, I wouldn’t have minded at all. After all, I have to show I.D. to check out a library book, buy a bottle of wine, and make changes to my mobile phone plan at the Verizon store, so I would gladly show my I.D. to vote. After all, I wouldn’t want just any person walking in and pretending to be me and take away my freedom to have my say about who is elected!