For my father who always wanted to live to see a Black democrat for president but didn't. For all the African Americans who didn't live to see this day--if it happens. For my daughter who has a chance today to know nothing but a Black democrat for president. For my momma who grew up in Charleston, South Carolina right smack in the middle of the violence of the Civil Rights Movement. For my Uncle Brother who went from sweeping the floor of a white man's store to teaching white people how to open a store.
For the white woman who called me "NIGGER!!" one day on the streets of Haverstraw, New York just cause I was there. For the boy who wouldn't stay the night after...after, because he said he never really wanted a Black girl.
For the white Polish boy from Buffalo (yes, Joe Biden, a place more forgotten than Scranton, PA) whose friends saw a young Black girl on a bus coming home from school and teased her then called her "UGLY!"--for that Polish boy now a man, my partner for life. He got off the bus and told them "I thought she was pretty" and now he says he's married her.
For me, because I need this day. I need just one day where I walk through a store with my hands deep inside my pockets, one day without the nervousness in public, one day where I don't have to worry what Black people be doing--if it's wrong or if it's exceptional.
For just one day, Obama, just one . . . .
"This morning I drove to work through Northern Sarasota, used to be called Overtown, settled by former slaves and still the heart of the black community. On every corner, black people dancing and holding signs for not just Obama but for Christine Jennings and Keith Fitzgerald, for real change that supercedes color and has filled even this miserable red neck section of the USA with a kind of restless fever. When I saw Biden at Booker High School named after the first female black educator in Sarasota and still catering to the greatgrandchildren of her students, I wondered why no one remembered that it was Booker Elementary School down the road where Bush sat dumbfounded and silent on September 11 while the country wailed in the background. At the Ed Smith stadium last week I watched Obama sprint across the ball field with the Secret Service men and to the surprise of Pearse, I burst into tears. I didn't even know why but afterwards, hiking through the crowd of more than12,000 people in the heart of old Overtown, sitting in the traffic with my windows down while people and cars clogged the streets, looking at two women in full African dress outside their little home on the main road, a little boy in his Sunday suit next to them yelling in his clear, flute of a voice, Obama Obama Obama while his mother said in a voice much deeper and full of years of experience that child may never need know said calmly, "Yes, son, that's right son, yes.", while all of that was going on around me it came to me that I cried becaus e of the ease and dignity of that stride, the reflection of physical and emotional health, as though in that beautiful sprint one could feel the core of the man and his nature, the man who, when the crowd booed at the name McCain leaned into the microphone and said, "Don't boo. Vote." I cried thinking about how a community activist really could reach and attain the highest office in the country, that it was possible to start out giving a shit and keep moving, keeping faith and momentum and focus until we come to this very day, the day where I told my children in the car this morning that after tonight, the door would be open to all people, to all possibility and every parent could finally tell the truth when they look their kid in the eye and tell them they can run this country. In our family, we are hoping that the rules will change and people who are not born here but are citizens can have their day too.
So, for your daddy, YES and your man, YES and your daughter,YES and so many others, YES..........but honey, when I filled that little space in last week in the Fruitville Library in the deep south, I rode my pen around that little box for me and you. YES, this one is for you."
Beautiful. Thank you. Yes. I am hopeful too.... for all of our children.
I miss you, Lisa!
I love you!
xxoo
i teared up just now reading this sitting at work.
your daughter will see a world i could have only wished for when i was her age, though i'll give this fucked up world some credit for making me give a damn.
your partner is an amazing man, and you are a beautiful woman.
and i hope you are always a part of my life.
My dearest Lisa, (my other daughter),
Thanks for the blog. It is worth reading again and again. You are so on point with your facts as well as the timing. Our upbringing was just a setback for the set-up which would entice the comeback. I
have always believed even though I didn't know it at the time growing up in Charleston, 'no one can ever make you feel inferior without your consent.'
I pray today becomes our complete withdrawal from the pangs of slavery. I am too proud to bend.
I am so moved by your words, thoughts, offer of support. You are a true ally. Thank you!
Your daughter will know her first president as a man of vision and courage. You will know him also as a dream realized. I will know him also as someone who helped me have hope in a way I’ve not since 1960.
And please know that if we could slip back in time, I would be honored to walk with you in Haverstraw, NY – anytime.