I hold onto Mom's leg as she presses my head close to her thigh. We are next in line after what feels like two hours of waiting. It’s my first time coming to vote with my mom. Now I’m eighteen and it’s time again. I’m not voting just because my parents vote, I vote for the people who can’t.

What’s one of the first things that pop into my head when I think of American history? Independence. Since 1776, Americans have been fighting for our rights. One that we’ve been given is the right to vote, however, that’s not always how it’s been. I am voting for all the people who have fought, and were denied their right to vote.

Taking the responsibility to be a voter is a new opportunity—an opportunity to get my voice heard. It gives power to me, an average citizen, who maybe thought she had no power at all. When I vote, I’m speaking up as not only my voice, but also for all the people who weren’t able to be heard. Even though my vote will be under my name, I want it to be the vote of Susan B. Anthony, the vote of all women before 1920, and the vote of all people unable to vote before 1965.

As I now scribble on the ballot paper and insert my slip in the box, this isn’t just my vote. It’s the vote of all the people who wanted to vote, who tried to vote, and who were denied the freedom which every person should be given. 

To me, my vote is an opportunity for my voice to be heard, and my decision to vote is what determines the sound I’m making on the world, and on the people. If I don’t vote for myself, then I’ll do it for the people who couldn’t.