Polls will close here soon

She was waiting for me on her front porch.

Today, I volunteered to drive and canvass for Obama’s campaign. Cell phone dispatched, I spent some time this morning picking people up to take them to the polls.

I helped her off the porch – her cane shook a bit as she found each stair. Her grasp on my arm wasn’t going to leave a bruise, but came close. Looking me in the eye she said “I’m 83 and I move a little slower now, but we’ll get there.” I just smiled and said “yes m’am. We sure will.” Her dark hair was peppered, her glasses thick, and her eyes were alive. “I marched on DC with Revered King young man, did you know that?”

“No m’am, I didn’t know that, but I’m proud to meet you.”

“Well, what’s a white boy driving a big car like this doin’ voting for Senator Obama?”

I laughed. “I’m a smart white boy, m’am.”

She smiled at me. “Yes, I guess you are.”

She’s widowed now, and her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren all live too far away to give her a ride to the poll. I was honored, and told her so.

“Yes,” she said, “my husband and I rode to DC on the bus to march, to get our vote, and to see history. Just like today. We’re going to win this. Goodness always conquers fear young man, we just have to wait a bit sometimes.”

She began humming, a hymn I couldn’t place but barely knew. Looking at me as we drove down Saginaw St., she said “he had a dream. You and I, young man, we are that dream. I’m going to vote for a good man, not a black man, not a white man, just a good man. That is a wonderful dream.”

I waited for her to vote while listening to MLK’s speech on my iPod. Yes, it’s on there, and it’s not a long speech. The last lines nearly took my breath away:

“…when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

I thank you m’am, for making my day wonderful.

“Keep dreaming young man.”

Yes m’am.