My grandpa sits on a couch telling me stories of the fallen stones and broken wood crashing onto the surface of red stained grass. “Heros from all over ran into muddy dugouts, holding their rosaries as they prayed among their brothers. The cries of families at home waited for the return of a brother, spouse, or son. The American Flag waved gracefully and untouched; stabbed in the land that lays our fallen soldiers.”

Looking up, I cover my ears, watching the crashes of color fills the night sky. Laying on a red cotton blanket, unable to move, I remain mesmerized by the color before me. Wooden picnic baskets full of food which recipes were passed down generations. Thankful praise and respect flows over me admiring the world around me.

My sister moved boxes into a long steel truck as the tears rush down my father's face. My father gave my sisters hand to another man of a different religion: a different race. My sister’s smile warms the air like a beam of sun as she looks at her new husband. Joy swims across her face as she piles into the van holding her future. She waves goodbye to my father and me, standing on the curbside with tears rushing down our rosey cheeks.

My mother walks into the white brick building that holds the future in its hands. She waits in line among others who also want to make a change. As she walks to the ballot room, she thinks about the decision at hand. I see in front of her the choices she and I need to make and the impact they will have. We think about my grandpa sitting on the couch telling his numerous stories, my sister piling into a moving van driving away with her new husband, and myself sitting laying on the cotton blanket enjoying the world around me. My mom circles her answer and walks out of the white brick building with a smile of pride and a sticker on her shoulder.