Our church is a polling place. (This means I do not have a good excuse for
not voting. I mean,
As I was walking across the parking lot into the
building, a few moments ago, several people representing various candidates and
political parties swarmed to hand me literature pertaining to today’s local
election.
One of the guys who approached me looked sort of
menacing—particularly since several key teeth were missing. But that type of influencer doesn’t seem like
an effective form of persuasion when it comes to a voting process in which he
will not be able to find out who I vote for.
Another person, a young lady—an older teen, perhaps—handed
me a card and said, “Please vote for my dad.”
I took the card from her and looked at the picture
of the candidate. “This is your dad,
huh?” I asked.
With a big smile, she said, “Yes!”
I said, “Is he a pretty good man?”
And for a second she had a puzzled look on her face
as if she hadn’t been expecting a question like that. Then she quickly recovered—you have to be
fast on your feet in the world of politics—and she said, “Yes he is.”
I teased her and said, “That pause will cost you
points later on when he’s running for president.”
She laughed.
Which was nice because sometimes my antics produce uglier reactions and
certain types of hand gestures. But she
could see that I was joking.
I’ve read the card and you know what? I might just vote for her dad.
(He’s got a nice looking set of teeth.)
