I am in a reminiscing kind of mood today.
I’m thinking of the first vote I cast for president of the United States. It was 44 years ago; that’s 11 presidential elections ago! I was 22 years of age. Newly married. My wife was pregnant with our first son. I was full of exuberant idealism.
The Vietnam War was still raging. My candidate for the presidency wanted to end the war quickly. I had returned from service in the Army as confused about the war as I was when I reported for duty at a place called Marble Mountain in the spring of 1969.
He got my vote on Nov. 7, 1972. Sen. George McGovern needed a whole lot more votes than he got that day. He lost the election huge to President Nixon.
I was proud of that vote.
Eleven elections later, I am decidedly less proud of the vote I am about to cast. To be certain, my enthusiasm for presidential candidates has had its ups and downs. Some campaigns got me far more excited than others.
This one, though, feels different — and it’s not in a good way.
You might ask: Is this a difficult choice? No. Not at all. My preference is clear. Both major-party candidates are deeply flawed. One of them, though, is far more flawed than the other.
When it’s over — and I expect we’ll have a new president chosen by the end of the night Tuesday — I am going to cling to another hope.
It will be that the loser will accept the result, deliver a concession speech that at least contains a semblance of grace and agrees to support the next president.
Do I expect all of that to happen? Will the person who should lose this contest — Donald J. Trump — toss aside the stuff about “rigged elections” and do the right thing? I am not holding my breath.
However, as they say: Hope springs eternal.
Having declared my general unhappiness with the choices we face, I remain proud of the fact that I have the right to make that decision. I will go to our polling place Tuesday morning excited that I will have my voice heard.
I just wish I could be as proud of the vote I am about to cast as I was the first time.