But it’s a vastly different time and place. My mother pointed out that Mr. Ford looked somewhat like her dad, my grandfather, all those years ago. I could see the resemblance, but there the similarities ended. No, it’s 1974 by a long shot! I was further reminded of this fact while shuttling back and forth in a car service this past week. One driver’s GPS spoke in a sensuous woman’s voice: “Turn ri-iiight. Turn le-eeeft.” Listening to these commands for a half hour was slow torture. Seems, too, that GPS has a mind of its own—sensuous or all business, it doesn’t matter—particularly on local back streets. I was dropped off on the street to the west of me, and another time on the street to the east of me. One driver whizzed past my address before I could holler, “Stop!”—you know, like the policeman in Frosty the Snowman. (The Microsoft Word editor suggested I be more inclusive and say, “police officer.”)
So, what’s the big deal about presenting an ID when voting? This isn’t the 1950s or 1960s. An ID is essential nowadays for every adult with a pulse. Recently, I had to display mine when purchasing a bottle of Nyquil cold medicine. It’s manufactured hysteria for the Twitter rabble and blathering talking heads obsessed with politics and their respective agendas.