Another ride home

My dad asked me if I was keeping track of election news, knowing well the answer. He told me he was as excited as ever about this year because it would be his first time voting for anything relevant. He's going to be taking is oath as a naturalized citizen in April and plans to register to vote later the same day. He's lived in the U.S. for 27 years but hadn't even considered becoming a citizen until just last year. His disdain for the American way of life had prevented him from doing so, but he has since come to terms with the fact that other people are wasteful and it doesn't mean that he has to be. He's going to make is own American lifestyle.
Back to his first vote. In the Philippines, the voting age used to be 21, and the year my father turned 21 was the same year Marcos declared martial law in the P.I. Shortly thereafter my father had to flee the country because of his ties to communism and the New People's Army. He nearly cried when he told me this story, it was an odd and rare moment of weakness. At the same time, however, it was more a show of how strong his idealism is. Now, 27 years after arriving in the U.S., he will finally have a voice, however small, in the discourse that decides the destiny of his home nation and he couldn't be prouder.

Neither can I.