I might feel differently if we lived in a big city where Election Day can mean standing in a long line in the bitter cold. But we don’t. So when the clock strikes Nov. 6, I’ll be taking the children to my polling place at Lawrence Memorial Hospital in Medford, where some friendly old folks seated behind a card table will welcome us with a weak smile, and hand me a ballot. We’ll then go into one of the booths and, after looking over our choices, play a quick game of “rock paper scissors” to decide who we’re voting for. (Oh, relax, it’s just a joke.)
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