Wow. I find myself incredibly emotional every time I think of the presidential inauguration. Actually, I’ve been emotional since the election – elated at the result, but mourning the disconnect of the past eight years. Since Bush was elected – especially since he was elected a second time – I have felt ill at ease in my own country, disconnected from the majority of voters here who somehow felt Bush was worthy of our trust and our hopes.
I was in the Tampa airport recently while in Florida visiting my parents, and wandered into a gift store in the airport that sold all sorts of things. Among the various gift items was a “onesy” for a baby that said, “When I grow up, I want to be… thank you Mr. Obama”. I literally can’t think of that little baby garment without crying; the few times I’ve told people about this gift item, I’ve gotten so emotional I had to stop, take a deep breath, and try to cover my embarrassment at getting so emotional over something so simple. But that dot dot dot… those three little dots are packed with so much promise, it almost hurts to think about it.
When I was still in grammar school – maybe middle school – I remember going with my parents to the annual black tie gala for the Chicago area chapters of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. My parents did a great job helping me understand the significance of some of the people I met or heard speak: Jessie Jackson, Andrew Young, Julian Bond, Ben Branch… I know there were others. It was the early ‘70s, and these people were still fresh from the years of the civil rights front lines. I think of them now, and my fortunate exposure to them and other black leaders, and I can’t help but get emotional thinking about what this presidential inauguration must mean to them.
Coming from an interracial family, our family composition gave me a unique view of the world; one I will be forever grateful for, even when that view wasn't very desireable. We were not immune from the fears of our neighbors. I remember feeling so confused and betrayed by our neighbors when there was a cross-burning on the lawn of a house down the block that had just been sold to a couple who had an adopted bi-racial baby girl. Apparently, my black brother (who was all of about 3 at the time) and this bi-racial baby girl were bringing down property values in this otherwise white neighborhood. So the neighbors were compelled to send a message to us and the home seller that this wasn’t ok; we were being put on notice that the diversification of the neighborhood had to stop. My family had been an integral part of this neighborhood for at least two years when this happened, so we knew all of these people well – or so we thought. It was wrenching to discover that under the surface, our neighbors actually harbored this anger and fear of anyone who looked different. What made their actions almost comical was the fact that the new family with the bi-racial baby daughter was a former priest and former nun who fell in love and left their vocations to pursue a life together as husband and wife. Scary, huh?
My family’s vicarious cross-burning experience is nothing compared to what I know generations of African-American families have endured. Even so, it makes the inauguration of a black president in 2009 gratifying beyond words. And what I especially love is that Obama isn’t just the first African-American president – he’s a return to intelligence in our nation’s highest office. He’s a thinker, an intellectual, and a diplomat. If he were pink, I would relish these gifts of his.
Watching Obama’s inauguration speech, I couldn’t help but feel tremendous hope not only for the future of our great but ailing nation, but for a future when we as people value character and intellect over race or ethnic origin. This is something I have to work at every day – appreciating the beauty of diversity over the comfort of homogeneity. Obama has inspired me to look for the good again.
I was in the Tampa airport recently while in Florida visiting my parents, and wandered into a gift store in the airport that sold all sorts of things. Among the various gift items was a “onesy” for a baby that said, “When I grow up, I want to be… thank you Mr. Obama”. I literally can’t think of that little baby garment without crying; the few times I’ve told people about this gift item, I’ve gotten so emotional I had to stop, take a deep breath, and try to cover my embarrassment at getting so emotional over something so simple. But that dot dot dot… those three little dots are packed with so much promise, it almost hurts to think about it.
When I was still in grammar school – maybe middle school – I remember going with my parents to the annual black tie gala for the Chicago area chapters of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. My parents did a great job helping me understand the significance of some of the people I met or heard speak: Jessie Jackson, Andrew Young, Julian Bond, Ben Branch… I know there were others. It was the early ‘70s, and these people were still fresh from the years of the civil rights front lines. I think of them now, and my fortunate exposure to them and other black leaders, and I can’t help but get emotional thinking about what this presidential inauguration must mean to them.
Coming from an interracial family, our family composition gave me a unique view of the world; one I will be forever grateful for, even when that view wasn't very desireable. We were not immune from the fears of our neighbors. I remember feeling so confused and betrayed by our neighbors when there was a cross-burning on the lawn of a house down the block that had just been sold to a couple who had an adopted bi-racial baby girl. Apparently, my black brother (who was all of about 3 at the time) and this bi-racial baby girl were bringing down property values in this otherwise white neighborhood. So the neighbors were compelled to send a message to us and the home seller that this wasn’t ok; we were being put on notice that the diversification of the neighborhood had to stop. My family had been an integral part of this neighborhood for at least two years when this happened, so we knew all of these people well – or so we thought. It was wrenching to discover that under the surface, our neighbors actually harbored this anger and fear of anyone who looked different. What made their actions almost comical was the fact that the new family with the bi-racial baby daughter was a former priest and former nun who fell in love and left their vocations to pursue a life together as husband and wife. Scary, huh?
My family’s vicarious cross-burning experience is nothing compared to what I know generations of African-American families have endured. Even so, it makes the inauguration of a black president in 2009 gratifying beyond words. And what I especially love is that Obama isn’t just the first African-American president – he’s a return to intelligence in our nation’s highest office. He’s a thinker, an intellectual, and a diplomat. If he were pink, I would relish these gifts of his.
Watching Obama’s inauguration speech, I couldn’t help but feel tremendous hope not only for the future of our great but ailing nation, but for a future when we as people value character and intellect over race or ethnic origin. This is something I have to work at every day – appreciating the beauty of diversity over the comfort of homogeneity. Obama has inspired me to look for the good again.
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