A Kind of Prayer
“A vote is a kind of prayer for the world we desire for ourselves and for our children.”
— Senator Raphael Warnock
Today, the very first day of Early Voting in NYC, my husband and I voted.
As we discussed how crucial voting is with our 13-year-old son, I remembered Senator Raphael Warnock’s words.
I associate voting with my deceased father. Today I remembered going to vote with him countless times as a child, at my elementary school gym.
I remember how the rays of light from the sun reflected on the gym floor as we waited to enter the booth.
I remember entering the booth with my father and him explaining how I should never relinquish my right to have my voice heard.
I remember the lever, and him letting me put my small hand on his as he made his voice heard.
Today, remembering my father and Sentator Raphael Warnock’s profound words, I realized my vote is indeed a kind of prayer.
A kind of prayer for the world I desire for myself and for my son, certainly.
But also a kind of prayer of remembrance.
A kind of prayer honoring my father and my history.
A kind of prayer of understanding the thread that connects what came before to what can be possible.
Waiting on line with husband to get in, the sun shone brightly in the sky, casting its rays upon the world below.
Ever since my father’s death, I have felt his ethereal presence in the sun.
I felt his essence waiting alongside us, encouraging us to exercise our right and remember our duty as citizens of a democracy.
As I filled out my ballot, I felt my chest and throat constrict with emotion.
It felt almost surreal, perhaps even magical, to cast my ballot, particularly as a multiethnic, bilingual and multi citizenship individual.
I am frightened about what may happen with this election, but today, I made my voice heard.
I made the voices of my ancestors heard.
I made my son’s voice heard.
My vote today is absolutely a kind of prayer.
