The energy at PS 87 on the Upper West Side of Manhattan was indescribable. Most certainly an Obama heavy crowd, I placed myself into a much-expected line filled with many familiar neighborhood faces, including an old music student of mine from Nursery School. This beautiful 6 year old little girl, the product of a racially mixed marriage, was thrilled to enter the voting booth not once, but twice, both with Mom and Dad. Before parting the curtain, someone took a picture of the 3 of them standing in front of the voting booth with big smiles and 3 thumbs up. The significance of this picture is really worth a thousand words as they truly are the face of Obama’s promise for change.

Becoming slightly more emotional than I had anticipated, memories started flooding back of my mother taking me to the polls as a little girl. Sure casting a ballot during the Carter/Regan/Bush Sr. era must have been electrifying but in comparison with the revolutionary and historical significance in this 2008 election, I think it’s safe to say: this is the most important day in voting history.

Because of the “no campaigning in the polling place” law, which effects New York and 9 other states, I felt like superman hiding my secret identity under my blue coat. My Obama shirt tucked in but peeking out ever so slightly as a small “screw you” to whoever made this ridiculous law. As if my shirt could actually intimidate someone into voting the other way? If someone is that easily persuaded in final hour, I’m not sure they should be voting. Then again, this is the type of person McCain is praying for. I digress.
I became well acquainted with this rule when I was forced to remove my “Kerry for President” button back in 2004. Feeling like a proud rebel, I chose to wear a blue coat intentionally and apparently, I was not the only one.

The press photographers were snapping away at our line as what was probably a well-known Philanthropist or possibly the wife of someone famous asked “did you get the shot” while removing herself from the gap in the booth. I was next. Reading over the instructions a few times even though I’m not new to voting, I suddenly got nervous about turning the knobs incorrectly. You can never be too sure when your relatives are from South Florida. I checked once, twice, three times a lady and finally pulled the lever from right to left with a feeling of elation and satisfaction certain that my vote will count for “That One”.

As I walked out of the school, into the playground and past the tempting bake sale in order to walk the two blocks home, I realized I too wanted to document this moment with a photograph. I always want to remember the day I voted for the candidate of my choice and he actually won. Trying to extend my arm as far as humanly possible to take a picture of myself, a woman in a wheelchair wearing all red, white and blue (including her pinwheel earrings) asked if she could take it for me. As the camera exchanged hands and she snapped my photo, in my heart of hearts I knew that the election was sealed. She knew it too as she returned my camera to me entered the school and joined the line.