We Can Be Heroes, Just for One Day

My hope is re-ignited. I’m more than ready for some broken glass. Let it rain down all over this country.

Part 1. The Prologue:

I want to celebrate Kamala Harris today. For me to do that I need to go back to the election in 2016, and the months leading up to that unforgettable day. We were all so sure Hillary would win. I was a woman on fire. I campaigned, I distributed lawn signs, I designed and printed buttons that I gave away to anyone who wanted them. One read “Don’t Boo, Vote!” and the other––a late-night inspiration––said “Nasty Woman! – #I’m With Her.”

I carried voter registration forms with me wherever I went and I asked total strangers if they were registered. If they weren’t, I’d magically produce a form and a black Flair pen. I’d sign them up on the spot. I even grabbed a kid out of my 12 Step meeting who’d just turned 18, and walked with him down the street to our local Board of Elections. He proudly added his name to the voter rolls. If you could have seen the smile on that young man’s face. Beautiful.

Yes, I was crazy about Hillary. Not because she was my favorite woman in politics. Not by a long shot. But she seemed like the perfect person to finally break through and shatter that glass. It was time. It was past time, and I wanted to do my part.

On election day, I volunteered to drive people to vote from 7am ‘til 9pm when the polls closed. I was up at 4am, having barely slept the night before, I was so excited. I got to my polling place at 6am, and was the 1st person to vote in my district. My car was pristine, a cute little yellow taxi. I’d stocked a supply of bottled water and snacks for me and my passengers. I drove and drove all over my county and everyone got to vote.

That was my Mini-Cooper. Her vanity plate said Yolkel, because I was a country bumpkin, and the car reminded me of an egg over-easy.

We all know what happened later that day. I arrived at a friend’s house at 9:30 for a party, so we could eat, drink, and celebrate. We watched the returns. As the night wore on, it became excruciatingly clear what the outcome would be. Crushed, I couldn’t bear to stay and hear the news. I went home, got into bed, and when I woke up the next morning, I hoped it was all a bad dream. I grabbed my phone and before looking, I said a prayer––something I never did––then read the news and wept. I got up, bathed in sorrow, fear, and anger, and began my day. I didn’t let it negate the joy I felt the day before. I took that joy, that determination, that sadness and rage, and said to myself, maybe not today, but change will come. Of course, I had no idea how bad it would get, but here we are again. Our chance to do the next right thing. I believe in right action AND miracles.

A few months prior to the 2016 election, I performed in a story slam. We’re all given one sentence that has be in each story, if it isn’t, we’re disqualified.

2016 was also the year that David Bowie died. He was a local in my neighborhood. The sentence, to pay homage to his memory, was:

We Can be Heroes, Just for One Day.

And just to add some context, at the time, I was in what I like to call my “Head Shaving Era.”

Part 2. The Story:

So, this weird thing happened yesterday morning. I was working the day shift and that lady came in. You know her, the one who shows up right before we close to get her half gallon of mint chocolate chip. Yeah her, the bald one with the weird eyeglasses. She comes to the register and smiles at me. Then, she looks at my name tag, and says, “Hey Kate, did you vote today?”

I think to myself, that’s a really personal question. I don’t want to tell this lady my business. But there was something about the way she asked, like she was really interested. So, I answered her.

“Nah, man, I'm not very political. I just turned 18, so I’ve never voted. It doesn’t make any difference, anyway, right?”

The lady frowned a little, and leaned in, maybe a little too close, and said,

“Oh, Kate, voting is one of the few rights we have in this country.”

Then she looked at me and said,

“You're a young woman. Doesn't it scare you that politicians want to take away your right to choose what you do with your own body? There are state governments that want to take away a woman’s right to abortion and birth control. There are men in power who don’t care if a little girl gets pregnant because some man in her family raped her. There are people in this government who think a 10-year-old should give birth and parent a baby if she gets pregnant. And it’s all about power and keeping women down. Doesn't it make you angry that men still earn more money per hour than women?”

I looked at her, and I thought, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,  

“That’s not true. Guys don’t make more than I do.”

She said, “Yeah, Kate, it’s true. It’s always been that way,” then she says more.

“Doesn't it freak you out that kids are getting killed in school shootings, doesn’t it make you mad that people all over the country want to ban books? Don’t you think it’s about time we had a woman president? Doesn’t it seem wrong that we still haven’t? Do you think that’s okay? There's some crazy shit going on in this country. We have to vote.”

The more I listened to her, the more sense she made. I just never thought about it that much. My parents never vote. But they sure complain a lot about taxes, and how expensive food and gas are.

Then the bald lady asked me if I'm registered to vote as a Democrat.

“Yeah, I registered when I was in high school. But I work until 8 and my car’s in the shop. So, I can't even get there.”

She looks at me with this ridiculous smile on her face and said,

“Kate, this is so exciting! Your first vote will be in a presidential primary. I haven’t missed voting once since I turned 18. It always makes me feel proud, and it’s the least I can do. It’s also the most important thing I can do. Your vote matters. The polls are open till 9pm. Can I come get you at 8 and take you to vote?”

It felt kind of weird. I didn't know anything about this lady. Well, I did know what flavor ice cream she likes and that she has weird taste in haircuts, but there was something cool about her, too. She really wanted to help me. She seemed to care so much.

So, I said yeah.

When my shift was over, she was waiting for me outside in this little yellow car. I got in, and she looked at me and said,

“When I vote, I think to myself that we can be heroes, just for one day. All of us. We can change the world.”

I voted. It felt really good.

Part 3. The Epilogue:

I saw Kate after the 2016 election, one night when I walked into the convenience store where we met. I wanted to bathe my sorrows in a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She smiled when she saw me walk in, and told me she voted in the election. Then she got quiet and her smile faded. I nodded, and said, “and you’re going to keep voting, right?” She lifted her head, and looked me in the eye, her smile returned, and she said,

“Yes. I will. I’ll never miss a vote.”

Part 4. The Afterword:

My hope is re-ignited. I’m more than ready for some broken glass. Let it rain down all over this country. Kamala did it once, she can do it again. But, this time, I’m going to stay humble. I’ll volunteer. I’ll do the work. What comes next? We won’t know until we know.

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