|
TITLE: A Vote for Unity By jason taylor 11/04/08 |
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
|
My leg was healing slowly. It didn’t hurt near as much as it did a month ago when I fell off the dock at work and broke it. The cast was itching me as I put on my special boot. The doctor said I could walk on it now if I was careful. Today was a big day. It was election day. It was the day where us Americans would choose another President. I had been off from work since my accident. I was sitting in the living room.
“Are you voting today?” I asked my wife, Michelle.
“I don’t think I’m registered,” she said.
“Yeah, you gotta practically have the original of the Declaration of Independence before they let you vote,” I said.
“Don’t be so cynical honey,” she smiled.
“Well, I guess I am being a little overdramatic,” I said.
I put on my other tennis shoe and stepped out into the bright Fall day. The fire station where voting was taking place was right down the street and I decided to walk against my wife’s wishes. She didn’t think it was a good idea to walk on my injured leg. But I was stubborn and began walking towards the station.
As I got closer, I could see lots of cars and trucks parked around the station and a line stretching out into the street. I thought, wow, I guess a lot of people are missing work to vote. I stepped up into the line and began waiting silently. A man at the front of the line was saying something about all the blacks and the white churches. I felt almost ashamed to be part of all of it. One of the candidates for President was black and one was white.
The line moved along fairly quickly and before long I was sitting at a table marking my choices. I voted for the black candidate because I thought he was more Presidential- a better leader. I felt great about myself as I walked out of the fire station. I had contributed my part in deconstructing a barrier that black people have faced for a long time. I was helping in destroying racism. I was proud and optimistic.
I was halfway home when a red pickup pulled alongside me. The window came down and I saw two white men sitting inside.
“How’s it goin’?” said the driver.
“Fine, how are you?” I replied.
“How long is the wait up there,” he said.
“About thirty minutes,” I said.
“I sure hope McCain gets it!” he said.
“I voted for Obama,” I said.
The man’s demeanor changed and he stared at me for a good ten seconds.
“A n***** lover, huh? Boy, do you live around here?” he said.
“I live over that way,” I pointed in the direction of my apartment.
“I suggest you get the hell outta this town,” said the man.
I didn’t have a response to this. The man rolled up his window and I walked home, thinking about what I should have said, running the incident over and over in my mind. I thought about it the rest of the day. That evening after supper I had another idea. Maybe this is a little taste of what black people have had to endure for 200 years. I hoped more than ever that Obama would win.
After supper, they projected Obama to be the winner on all the major stations. I was glad and sad at the same time. I was proud to be an American but ashamed to be a white person. I wished I could solve all the country’s racism problem with some simple act. Michelle told me that some people at her job were saying they were going to send a marksman up to Washington to assassinate Obama. This scared me. I was suddenly concerned for the President’s well being. What kind of people were these who would say such things? What were they afraid of? Maybe they were afraid that the blacks were going to redistribute their wealth to inner cities. Maybe they were afraid that black men were going to take white women. I wasn’t for sure, but these were pretty good guesses according to me. I went to sleep that night still thinking about the men in the truck.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.