Obama

Well, I wasn't going to do it.

But here I am any way, writing about Barack Obama.

I cried this morning over the paper. I really did.

I did not work for Obama's campaign. I probably would have preferred a third party candidate if it would not have thrown away my vote. I did vote for him. And by the end of the campaign, I was truly impressed by the man's oratory and leadership.

But this morning, when I saw that we had a President who is a Black man, I was so touched. America is not redeemed. But it is a different place than it was yesterday.

I recalled all the people of color from my youth. People who lived in a time and place of not-quite-Jim Crow, but certainly segregation. People who were insulted daily simply because their skin was a darker tone. But who I recall clearly as being people of great dignity, great honor despite being treated by the world as second class beings.

I grew up in a border state, Kentucky, in Lexington. At the time I was a child, there were black schools, black shopping areas, black neighborhoods. The integration of all these things took place when I was still pretty young, about 8 or 9 years old to about 12.

I thought this morning about Berryman Foster, who was a good man, and would have been so proud. I thought about Hattie White. They passed too soon. And I cried. It would have meant so much to them. I am glad for all my friends who are here to celebrate. Namaste. I am ashamed that I was afraid to hope.