“People like me can vote?” my brother asked.
I had to look away from him for a moment so that I wouldn’t cry in the middle of the waiting room. Like millions of Americans, my older brother lives with a disability. He was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which means he hears voices and battles mood fluctuations. He also struggles with some learning disabilities that resulted when doctors used forceps to help deliver him as a baby. Thanks to good doctors, medication and a remarkable day program, he is doing well. He is strong, compassionate and funny. He watches the news and is well informed; we’ve discussed the Islamic State, North Korea, the poor, jobs, what to do about the homeless and the presidential campaign. But he didn’t know he could vote.
When I was certain I could answer him in a steady voice, I responded. “One hundred percent yes. You can vote,” I said. “As long as you haven’t been declared incompetent by a court of law, you have the same rights as I do and everyone else in this country. Fill it out, and we’ll vote together on primary day.”
My brother wrote his name and address, and he even checked the box marked “Democratic Party.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’re a registered voter.”