On this past election day in Oregon, Michael looks back to the time he got his voter’s card when he came out of rehab, and how a bureaucratic slip of paper signaled a new start.
Novemb
er 2, 2010
Met M and R at the coffee shop. The rain was light but steady, as much mist as rain; gentle, warmer than expected. Walked to the track. Straights and curves today. It’s my fourth day with steady output. Came back later to take a picture of the flag on election day. Did not bring a tripod, which limited my range of choice. Got what there was. I’ll likely go back another morning.
On the way back to the car, I remembered coming home to the US nearly 10 years ago. I went to get my license renewed at Motor Vehicle Branch in Denton, Texas. A big-haired, bored Texas gal took me through the paper work. Finally she looked up, said we were done but for one question: What party affiliation did I want to list on my voter registration card? I told her Democrat.
After another minute or two she handed me my license and my voter registration card. I could drive legally in the US, approved by the State of Texas my license said, and I could vote legally in the 26th congressional district in the Great Lonestar State.
It was just another Texas-hot day in June, but there in front of me was a battered, slightly crumpled guy, standing in front of the MVB window, staring at two slips of paper with an amazed look on his face. I saw him looking back at me and it was only then that I noticed the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. The gal who had driven me over from the rehab joint I was in at the time came up to me and asked if everything was all right. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess.”
And I handed her the papers. She looked at them for what seemed a long time. “Welcome home, Michael, glad you made it, ” she said and then turned away and headed back to the car. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t referring to Texas exactly, more like home from 30-plus years living abroad and more than that locked into drugs and alcohol. Yeah, I said to myself, long time comin’, and wiped the tears away.
Funny thing how the biggest moments, the end of the longest journey, can be marked by a little scrap of bureaucratic nonsense. So it’s election day. I already voted by mail as we do here in Oregon, but before I did I took my now out-of-date Texas voter’s card out of its resting place in my desk drawer and renewed my acquaintance with it. I remembered a big-haired ol’ gal in a Texas motor vehicle bureau and said, Thanks y’all. My time to go and be counted.
Photo Credit
“In the morning when I rise…” © Michael Lebowitz. All Rights Reserved.
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