Emi, my mom, was ready. She had printed out a sample ballot and filled in her selections. Her chuleta, she called it, a nod to cheat-sheets Venezuelan children use when they’re studying for tests. Three pages of candidates and propositions, going all the way from President of the United States to community college trustees. My mother, 71, did have a child-like quality to her as she held her chuleta to her chest on top of a manila envelope, waiting in line for early voting at Wheatsville, one of our local, Austin grocery stores turned into a polling place.