A 94-year-old veteran keeps marching on to cast his vote during the 2020 pandemic and honors his buddies and brother who never came home from the war

Why 94-year-old Johnny Keeps Marching on to the Polls in 2020

I have voted many times in my life before, but the joy, pride and gratitude I feel in my heart today for this incredible privilege is one that I shall cherish for the rest of my life. I voted in person during this pandemic when, otherwise, I remain in seclusion, being responsible and respecting this life-or-death virus that threatens all of us each moment.
I had not intended to vote in person and have been awaiting my ballot in the mail but it has yet not arrived and my in-person voting was a totally unexpected experience – and, I choose to think, now – meant to be.
As I was heading out for my daily morning long walk, I bumped into my 94-year-old neighbor, John, who always votes in person at City Hall and for whom walking a mile each way is a painful challenge, but he does it. He is a WWII veteran who came home with his life while most of his buddies – including his brother – did not make it home, giving up their lives for our country, America – the land of the brave; the home of the free.
And so John girds his loins, straightens up his spine and calls upon all the strength his painful legs can muster, heading for the polls to vote.
I decided to accompany him to the polls, “drop him off” and continue on my walk but when we got there, I was shocked at what I saw: no line, fewer than six(6) people in a very well run, organized, truly socially-distancing setting with police officers and efficient poll workers at the ready. It was a sight to behold; it was safe and it was calling me to trust and do my duty: vote!
I was so moved by the experience that lasted no more than eight(8) minutes – if that long and the ease with which my voting privilege had been executed. So why was I so emotional about this particular voting experience? What was so different?
As we stepped out into the sunshine, proudly wearing our “I voted” stickers on our chests, I felt like crying… something had happened in that voting place; something very magical. Johnny asked me what was wrong and I tried to explain to him how I felt because I, myself, could not quite understand the emotion.
He then proceeded to explain to me that it was gratitude for the privilege of voting in a country where many had died for the privilege that we were now experiencing; that it was nothing to take for granted, for he knew of this firsthand, having served his time in the service during the war.
He told me that, every time he voted, he thought of his buddies and his brother – and the thousands and thousands of soldiers who had died during not only WWII but the First World War so that we could live in a free country. His voice was shaky with emotion and I felt chills as he spoke.
For a brief moment, I felt the sweet presence of these beautiful, young boys in Europe, gasping their last breath for America, our beloved America that is in such bad shape now because we have been so complacent and forgotten their sacrifices.
Johnny has not forgotten. And, as long as I live, neither will I.
God bless America. God bless the memory of our boys.