Statistics show that the largest block of voters in the United States is the over-fifty category. As a member of that group-actually being twenty years over fifty-it seemed exciting to be able to vote for the first time in the first primary in the country.

For most of my adult life, I lived in the state of Maine. Last October, we moved to New Hampshire to live in a senior housing development. With all of the hoopla about the primaries this year, I was ready and willing to cast a vote for my favorite candidate.

One of the worst aspects of my personality is procrastination. I very much wanted to vote in the primaries, but there didn’t seem to be a big hurry to register to vote. After all, the primary wouldn’t be held until January.

So, the first day that the town office was open in January, I went to register to vote. “Sorry,” the clerk said. “Voter registration at the town office ends ten days before the election. You will have to register to vote at the polls.”

That didn’t seem too difficult. The very nice clerk printed out a letter saying that I resided in Gilford, New Hampshire. Then she printed out a rather long list of things I might need to register to vote. The first item on the list was a New Hampshire driver’s license.

My procrastination came in to play once again. I hadn’t gotten my New Hampshire driver’s license. It was good to know that I wouldn’t have to take a driving test. That is required at a certain age that I haven’t reached, so that isn’t what held me back. The fact that I had just paid $30 to renew my Maine driver’s license in June, and that it was good until June of 2011, is the excuse for my delay. Because my husband had gone for his New Hampshire license, I knew that it was going to cost $50. That had an influence as well.

So, while my husband was registering a vehicle in Concord, I decided to break down and get my license. I wanted to vote badly enough to pay that $50, even though it hurt my pocketbook. After quite a bit of difficulty finding the motor vehicle registration building, I went to the license section while my husband went to the vehicle registration section.

The nice woman behind the desk gave me a form to fill out. I complied. Out of my purse came the letter saying I was a resident of the town of Gilford along with my Maine driver’s license. Now that license has a picture on it. I will agree that those pictures aren’t very flattering. For one thing, it seems that I must not look that old. Even though it wasn’t a great picture, surely it was good enough to prove I am who I say I am.

The woman behind the desk said that I needed more-my birth certificate-and if my name had changed since I was born, I would need a copy of my marriage certificate. This seemed like a very difficult test. I didn’t want to take the driving test because I hate to parallel park. Now I was being asked to find the certificate for a marriage that took place fifty-one years ago. This felt like another sort of test.

I went home to hunt for these things and returned to a department of motor vehicles office nearer where I live. I amazed myself by finding both a copy of my birth certificate and our marriage certificate. I filled an envelope with the other things on the list I had been given at the town office. My bad habit of procrastination came up again when I saw the word passport on the list. Mine expired in September of 2007. I did have copies of other items on the list-a telephone bill and my social security card, along with the letter from the clerk in the town of Gilford stating that I am who I am.

I thought the clerk should be more impressed with my ability to find my birth and marriage certificates. She just looked at these items as if finding a fifty-one-year-old marriage certificate was a piece of cake, so to speak. After all, I suppose, this is routine for her, and she expects people to find these things.

I looked through a viewfinder and was able to read the little letters to prove that I could still see. I had my picture taken in a flash and was told to wait until called. When my name was called, I was handed a temporary driver’s license and told that they send the permanent one to the address I gave as my residence. This, apparently, proves I really do live there. The thought of having to pay again for a permanent license came to mind. When I asked the clerk if I had to pay again, she smiled and said they hadn’t figured a way to require that yet. I could see that in spite of having such a routine job, she did have a sense of humor.

The next week, I was ready on Tuesday, January 8, to vote in the primary election. I had a large manila envelope containing my birth certificate, marriage certificate, telephone bill, Social Security card, and the letter from the town clerk. It was a surprise to see how many people were in line to register to vote. I waited my turn and filled out a form. There were two people behind the registration table, and one woman walked over to read my application and to look at my New Hampshire driver’s license.

The woman wasn’t someone I knew by name; however, she did look familiar to me. I decided she must be someone I had seen at church, the library, or the program I attended at the historic society. All she did was look at the license, sign my application, and get the other woman working with her to sign as well. All the things in my envelope were not necessary. This woman believed that I am who I am and I live where I do. She walked over with me to where the list of voters was being checked and handed in my application. As she walked away, she said, “I hope you will like living in Gilford.” Right then, I liked it very much.

It was a bit of an effort to prepare for this event. I did it, though. At the age of seventy, for the first time in my life, I voted in the first primary election in the country for my choice of whom I would like to have nominated for the president of the United States of America. I am truly proud.

I plan to vote again in November, and this time I am already registered.