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Town Hall
The sound of my grandpa's voice became shaky as he talked about his past military experiences. But also to show the joy of all the brothers that came from it. Never hearing my grandparents’ political views, they tell me about their past. I remember them having a conversation about the importance of voting. I was about sixteen years old, getting closer to the age where my voice can be heard.
Growing up, I remember going to the small town hall of North Lake, Wisconsin with my parents. The line went all along the sidewalk outside of the doors. An older gentleman comes outside and gives everyone instructions to keep the line moving. I saw people walk out with stickers saying “I voted.” I stayed by my mother’s side as we got into the building. She had filled out some forms and began to walk towards another line. I can't remember another time when I saw so many people packed into one small building. I saw more stickers of red, white and blue.
There was a long counter separated into sections by curtains. I clung to my mom as she walked in. I peeked up onto the counter to see what she was doing and why she was doing it. We walked out and the gentleman at the door gave her the sticker. She placed it on my shirt as I could feel my smile widen walking past the line outside.
Telling my grandpa this story and expressing my excitement towards something I thought was so little, showed how important it was to my grandpa. My mom's political views became established through her parents, my grandpa. Now, from passed down generations, my vote reflects back to past generations.
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