The journey to the voting booth is not extensive, and for a three-year-old, it’s considered fun. In my little town of Hartland, Wisconsin, it’s right on the corner of Cottonwood Avenue and East Park Avenue. Every two years, my mom and I would take a trip to the police station to cast her vote. Being a curious toddler, I interviewed her with a series of questions about voting and why everybody should do it. Although I haven’t accompanied her in a few years, I can still remember the smell of freshly shredded paper and coffee. 

An inalienable right. It’s a slice of the Constitution, a responsibility the Founding Fathers trusted the citizens of the United States with. A vote, a choice, a voice. It’s a small cry within a loud crowd. I like to call it a collective voice. What would this collective voice sound like if only half of the people showed up?  

Nowadays, everybody has the right to vote. Nobody can be turned away on the basis of gender or skin. Many generations of people fought for this right. So I ask you this; why would we not exercise a right that people have lost their lives for, picketed for, or been arrested for? 

My mom takes my hand and we stroll through the double doors. We step up the stairs and pivot around the corner. I sit down on a small bench as my mom casts her vote. Sitting on the bench I think about myself voting. Fast forward 15 years and I’m finally 18, it’s my time to cast my vote and exercise my inalienable right, one that generations have fought to express, a journey to the voting booth that’s still fun, 15 years later.