Presidential Preference Election
The Christmas and New Year’s holidays had come and gone. The late February evening was cool after a warm, sunny day. I need to start planting my peppers and tomatoes, Juan thought as he climbed out of his truck and went to check the mailbox. What’s this?
Walking through the front door into his living room, he was greeted by the savory aroma of pozole, a traditional soup made with hominy. Tonight, Maria made it with chicken and topped it with radishes, avocados, and a little lime juice. “Did you get one of these?” he asked, holding up an official-looking letter.
“Hmm?” Maria looked up from where she was grilling tortillas. “¿Qué es?” She wanted to know what it was.
“I don’t know,” Juan examined the letter more closely. “It’s pretty big. It looks like it has something to do with the election.”
“Well, open it.”
Inside the envelope was a form filled with instructions. “Yeah, it has Joe Biden on it. Maybe this is my vote?” He handed it to Maria.
She wiped her hands on a towel and then took the forms. After a little reading she said, “No… Donald Trump isn’t on here. This is only for Democrats.”
“Oh?” Juan asked, looking over the papers. “Why are there so many people?”
“They’re all running for President,” Maria explained. “See this? It says PPE, Presidential Preference Election.”
Juan just grunted noncommittally.
“You’ve got to decide which Democrat is going to run for President,” she explained. “It’s for the primaries. They come before the general election.”
“I know what the primaries are,” Juan grumbled. I just didn’t know I was going to have to vote in one, he thought sourly. “Did you get a letter?”
“No,” Maria said absently, returning to the frying pan, “I didn’t register as a Democrat.”
“I thought I had to go in to vote and show my ID?” he wondered aloud.
Maria handed him a jar to open. “Did you sign up for early voting?”
“Yeah, that’s right!” Juan handed her back the opened jar, “That was the day that girl got shot. I forgot. The lady told me they were gonna mail me everything.”
Maria flicked her fingers at the letter. “Go ahead, make a choice.”
“Make a choice?” Juan picked up the glossy paper. It had instructions and pictures of six different men and one woman. “Isn’t it just Joe Biden?”
“No…” Maria leaned closer to look over his shoulder. “There’s a lot of them. What about him? He looks Mexican.”
Juan read more closely, “Gabriel Cornejo? Who’s he?” He looked to see if there was more information.
“Ooh, he’s too young.” Maria changed her mind, then pointed, “What about her? She looks nice.”
“Marianne Williamson?” Juan shook his head. He couldn’t see himself voting for a woman. “Naw… its gotta be Biden. He’s my President.”
“I know you’re loyal,” Maria grew serious, “But he’s so old. He’s over eighty.”
“Why?” Juan objected. “Trump’s over eighty, too!”
Maria looked skeptical. “You really think he's OK?”
“I don’t know,” Juan admitted. “I was talking to Rob about it, and he got me thinkin’ that if we want our community to be better, we’ve all got to get together behind one guy.”
Maria seemed to sense something was wrong. “Oh cariño,” she whispered, eyes filled with concern. She wiped her hands and pulled Juan closer, “¿Qué pasa?”
Juan was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said softly, “I never voted before.”
What advice will Maria give Juan?
Choose Option 1: It’s All Just a Game
Choose Option 2: Each Vote Matters