This Side of the Pond

I write to you this week as a true American.

Yes, I can guess what you're thinking, but it's true.

I know I already pledged to the flag and took my tests and learned lots of new things, and I already hung my first flag. You're right, I've been living here and partaking of American traditions and lifestyle, and I was doing that even before I was granted my citizenship.

But today, I did something that I have not been allowed to do for over a decade of living in this nation.

I voted.

I made my way to the courthouse, presented my identification, took my ballot and made marks upon it with flourish. My opinions towards our candidates became part of the official tally.

Today, I contributed to our democracy, just as the esteemed hosts of my naturalization ceremony urged repeatedly that I must. They told me it was the bedrock of what it means to be a citizen and my duty as an American.

I couldn't agree more – in fact, I always have, and I've awaited this day for many years.

I've spent the last decade sitting in the courthouse throughout the evening during every primary and general election, gathering and reporting the numbers on behalf of this newspaper, and also the Associated Press.

(In case you've ever wondered how the national news organizations create their ongoing vote tallies, it's by putting a reporter known as a "stringer" outside the counting room in every county across the nation, and having us report the numbers to an enormous bank of data crunchers at the central hub regularly throughout the night. I am one of those stringers.)

I've written countless articles introducing the various candidates as election seasons have drawn near. I've proofread dozens of political ads and crafted guides for voters to make sure everyone knew what they were doing when the rules changed.

But I've never been allowed to exercise that vital right for myself. I have been an observer of Wyoming politics, but never an active participant.

I've always found it a little funny, to be honest. I've been part of the workforce since I got here and thus have been a loyal taxpayer, but I haven't had a say in the people who've been governing where that money goes.

Ten years of taxation without representation, in other words. I guess they do say turnabout is fair play.

As this particular election got closer, I realized that I'd never before thought about it from the perspective of someone who can join in. I've always been the watcher, helping to ensure that everyone who wants to make their voice heard can do so and letting you know the results when the whole thing was done.

I'd never thought about the elections in terms of who I would be voting for. Well, that's probably not entirely true – I'm sure I did, at first, before the reality of what part I actually had to play had settled into my mind.

I got into the groove of my unique role in Crook County's democracy, and I've always enjoyed it. But today, the cherry was very much added to the cake.

I almost didn't get to experience this moment. In fact, it's only through the grace and determination of the ladies in the Crook County Clerk's Office that I am now wearing my "I Voted" sticker with pride.

In order to register as a voter, you see, you must prove that you are a citizen of the United States. I am indeed one of those, so that shouldn't have been difficult.

However, the cogs in the great machine of American bureaucracy have not yet finished turning, so I am not quite recognized as a citizen everywhere I go.

I presented my certificate of naturalization to the ladies. In case – like a few people I've talked to about this – you're wondering what the point of this certificate is, think of it as my American birth certificate.

This document was proof aplenty, so I was given my voter ID. Unfortunately, when they tried to enter me into the system, it threw back errors every time.

Many weeks later, they called to let me know that, while they'd managed to get me entered into the system, I probably needed to give WYDOT a ring. Of all the people you'd think of, it turns out that our department of transportation is the keeper of my nationality.

It makes sense when you think about it: my driver's license is my ID. My current license is the one issued to a green card holder, and I hadn't had chance to update it.

I still can't update it, actually, because my certificate of naturalization is at this moment with the people who make passports – they, too, needed proof. I'm beginning to think that the folks who make these certificates ought to just hand you a whole stack in the first place.

If you ask me, though, the real proof is my sticker. Today, I exercised my rights as a citizen to take part in our democracy – and let me tell you, it felt amazing. God bless America, and all who vote in her!