At the Caucus

There is magic in the air, and the notion that what we are doing is right is palpable at every instant. The crowd waits in line with the crackle of sheer electricity flying through us. After three long years -- seven if you want to be technical about it -- we are making a difference; change is finally at the forefront.

The throng of people, semi-confused by where they are supposed to be, smush together. Neighbors exchange nervous chatter as we wait to see how the caucus works. At last papers are signed; volunteers have run out of the official form so people are putting their name and address on blank sheets of paper.

Tonight it is Mom, Dad and I making the trip back to my old high school. Despite the fact that I have lived at six or seven different addresses (plus a couple of states) over the past two years, I still have yet to change my legal address. So tonight I go home and vote with my parents.

The three of us are in agreement to vote for Barak. Mom has a more defensive stance as she feels he represents the best chance of winning; Dad likes him more for his charismatic nature, and the fact that he could unite the country. Over a dinner of overly done pot roast we have discussed his takes on Health Care, his values and his past voting record-- is there any time better to be a political junkie then now; it's basically on par with spring training being over, and going to the ball park for Opening Day.

The line of cars to reach the caucus started half a mile away. By the time we find parking spots people are walking out; knowing, friendly smiles are exchanged with these veterans. The ability to participate in our civil and democratic duty has never tasted so sweet.

Four years ago, Minnesota had 50,000 people, across the state, come out to vote. Tonight DFL'ers were hoping to have 100,000. In all actuality the total amount of people would more than double that. Crossing the threshold of my high school, which typically sees graduating classes around 500 kids, will be over 20,000 people. My Dad had wanted to be part of the actual caucus, but by the time we enter the classroom we see that the entire room is swamped, and we won't be able to sit down.

Despite the fact we are only forty-five minutes arriving after the caucus officially opened, an exasperated woman informs us that they have run out of the formal voting ballots. Instead we are given little squares of paper (Ma, was quick to notice that they at least had patriotic red, white and blue stars on them) to write in the name of our choice for the next President. A few quick strokes with a pen and the name is slipped into a cardboard shoe box with a slit cut into the top-- after thanking the woman behind the counter she told me it was my perogative whether I folded my ballot or not.

These past years, it has been easy to be discouraged over America, and the direction that we've been headed. Tonight, seeing this many people instills a sense of pride in our democracy. That there is still something good, that there are still people that believe, that what we're doing is worth fighting for.

A single vote may not seem like it matters much, but tonight we are an army.