Sun rises on Election Day. 

This morning, as I walked down the hall past the

high school marching band members and their moms and

dads selling banana breads, muffins and coffee, on my way to 

vote, I thought of my father. I remember standing in the back of

an auditorium once as he voted, in that tiny place with the curtain.

That night we went to City Hall after the polls closed, to wait around 

- late on a school night - to see who won. I was maybe seven.  

He said something about how all the people had made their individual 

choices and now they were being gathered up and counted. That night or 

the next morning there'd be a mayor, a senator or a president.

It seemed electric then and even now, it still does.