Like millions of other New Yorkers, I fulfilled my democratic duty yesterday by casting my vote for mayor, comptroller, city councilman, borough president, judges, public advocate, and 4 propositions in a voting booth at John Jay High School.

It’s a familiar ritual; one that I enjoy a great deal. For one thing, it’s the only time I ever go into that big high public school on Seventh Avenue that now houses 3 middle schools.

Forgetting what district I’m in, I asked a pollster at a lobby table to look up my address.
"You’re In District 36," she says. "Go into the auditorium."

Once in the auditorium I remember that my voting booth is on the far left in front of the stage.
A pollster gives me a number like I’m at Zabars waiting to buy lox. They are up to 225 and I am number 240.

Fellow citizens wait in the auditorium seats napping, reading, chatting with one another. A Third Street neighbor asks me if I want to read the Voter’s Guide. A good thing because I need to read up on Propositions 1-4. I hate seeing that stuff for the first time in the voting booth. Sometimes I miss it altogether because it’s on the lower right of the ballot and I don’t see it until i am leaving.

Proposition 2 is a no-brainer. Money to improve public transportation. A Second Avenue Subway. Improvements to the quality of life of millions. Way to go.

The others take a little more study. By the time the pollster calls my number, I’ve pretty much figured out what and who I am voting for. It’s time to buy the lox.

To me, there is something almost sacred about being in a voting booth. Closing the curtain behind me and moving the red lever, I feel alone and important as I face the choices before me.
I know that must sound corny, but I guess I’ve bought into the romance of democracy, the sense of empowerment that it brings at those moments.

For the most part, I am well-prepared. The vote for judges throws me. I wasn’t expecting that but I get through it. The whole process takes a little more than a minute. I press the levers down – the good old fashioned way. I know that soon we will be converting to computerized voting machines soon. For now,  I appreciate this connection with the history of voting in New York City.

How many people have voted in this booth? How many fingers have touched those levers helping to decide the future of this city? This country?

At 7 p.m. when I voted, there wasn’t an overwhelming number of people at the polls. I had to wait about a half hour. Maybe people voted in the morning, or during the day. Afterwards, when I walked out onto the Avenue I felt connected to something larger than me. I felt that I had done something that, in some small way, makes me a good citizen of this town.