Making History

Thirty years ago, I couldn't invite both DeeDee and Yvette to my birthday party. My father explained that DeeDee's father would come over with a shotgun if Yvette was there. The choice was mine, and I chose Yvette. Which is a testament to how far things can come in a single generation, because my parents were the children of N-word-maternal-grandfather and that-nice-colored-boy-paternal grandmother. I love my parents deeply for transcending their racist upbringing and giving me a real shot at color blindness.

When my father graduated high school, segregation was still in force. And now a man of my generation, a man whose father would not have attended school with my father, would not have eaten at the same restaurants, would not have watched films in the same movie theaters, is president of my homeland.

Apathopolitical me watched the presidential inauguration for the first time ever. I cried before it even got started. I am incredibly moved and relieved and optimistic for the world and the universe at large that this day has arrived.

I so, so, SO hope that he doesn't get shot. I can't help worrying about it. He has Kennedy's charisma, he rides the wind of change, and he's black. Backwards redneck idiots with guns all over the US will be frothing at the mouth over this turn of events. If he weren't already dead, my maternal grandfather would have worked himself up to a lethal heart attack today. 

Let us hope the rest of America's got Obama's back.