cross-posted @ One Million Strong
Yes, a mile stone and history is about to be made. No other campaign can state the commitment as the Obama Campaign. Click above and watch the movement. BUT....
I am going to stop and write about me. Why I am for Barack Obama. Many have asked me and I felt my decision is personal, but after reading Nuisance Industry’s wonderful diary remembering Harold Washington, I thought I should. So here I go.
I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I have two brothers and my very verbal and caustic, sister. Yes, worse that me.
I grew up in a union home. My father worked very hard for his family, he drove a bus. My mother was a stay at home mom, until my sister went to school. We are a spirited, religious and a big talking family. My father taught my brothers how to play football, but it was my mother who taught my brothers how to play baseball. She is a great pitcher!!!
I went to public school for kindergarten, but my parents put us all in Catholic School for elementary and high school. (with the exception of my sister, who went to Whitney Young Magnet H.S.) Yes, it was sacrifice and money.
My first remembrance of my father’s strength was when I was in second grade. My favorite past time was reading. My parents took us to the library every four weeks, I just fell in love with books and learning. My first little essay was in second grade, on one of our favorite books. Well, I sat somewhat in the back and Sister Catherine was calling on us to read our essays. I raised my hand, but one of my classmates kept pulling my braids. Yes, I had very long hair. I kept turning around telling him, "Stop, pulling my braids!!" Well, that was it. Sister Catherine called me front and center. I tried to explain what happened. She did not listen. She took a ruler and slammed it on my hands. I was still talking, trying to explain, then she took, I will never forget it, a bar of Ivory Soap and grabbed my mouth, pried it open and made me bite on the soap.
I was demoralized. The other kids laughed at me. I cried and she hit my hands again.
I was so angered that when I went home to try to explain, a second grader, to my mother, she did not hear me. I am my mother’s child when I am caustic, but my father’s daughter when angered. My daddy, yes still daddy today, worked the second shift. I stayed up and sat on the stairs until I heard him come in. When he did the first thing he said was, "Sugar, what are you doing up?" Yes, he still calls me that today. I explained to him what happened to me, crying, he listened. He turned to my mother and said, "What did you do?" My mother said, "Well, if she was talking?" My father stopped her cold. He said, "Remember, I pay tuition to that school. That school would not exist without me sending them a monthly check. They have no right to touch my child. And they have no right to demean her."
Well, my father got up early the next morning to have breakfast with us. He hardly did that since he worked nights. He just said, "I am going to have a talk with those of power at that school." Well, Sister Catherine got an earful from my father, as did the principal. Told her that what she was doing was abuse and he threatened to call the police. See, back then teachers had the power, but some misused it. For the rest of the year, I was ignored by Sister Catherine.
This incident never left me, nor my father or mother. It was my father who taught me, "Don’t take anything from no one. Know who you are and where you have come from. And if you have issues, call me." Well, I have always kept this close to my heart and have called him. He has never failed me.
My home was a loving, funny, take-no mess home. My parents are different as night and day. My mother is from Alabama of mixed heritage, her father white and her mother was a very light African-American. My father is an African-American from Florida. My grandmother died when my mother was 14, from her pictures she was beautiful. I remember my grandfather, who passed away in the early 70's. He was a tall slender man with blue eyes and had soft hands. He was gorgeous to me. My mother had 11 brothers and sisters, she and her sisters were stunners in their youth and still are. My mother went to college and migrated to Chicago to visit her sister, it was here that she met my father who was a pullman porter on the train she arrived to Chicago from. They were married in less than 3 months. Yes, that love must have been hard. I recall, one day I was watching Imitation of Life , the version with Lana Turner when I was in sixth or seventh grade. The actress, who was passing for white, looked much like my mother. I remember asking my mother, "Why she did not pass for white?" She was shocked I asked that. Then looked at me immediately and asked if I had problems with who I was. I did not. I just asked her, because she looked like the girl in the movie. Boy, was I given the "don’t be ashamed of who you are speech." But she did answer the question. She said, "Because I am black, and that is who I am."
In my family between the six of us, it was always chocolate and vanilla. When my mother walked in a room with my father, folk looked at them with questions, especially at the school functions when they walked toward their child, me. This I understand about Barack Obama.
Politics was a very lively topic in my home. My mother was the one who became a precinct captain. Yes, she had many to kiss her ring. She knows many politicians and can call her congressman and he will pick up the phone. But, she was the one who told me this, "There is nothing more wonderful than being a democrat. But don’t ever be delusional we got some crooked ones in our party, too."
It was my mom who taught me the basics of grassroots training. Canvassing and knowing the issues of your candidate. I learned to speak with people on the phone, and to distinguish who you will back and why. That is why when Barack Obama entered the presidential race, I was excited. In fact, my mother was at my house and tears came to her eyes. She kept saying, he is just like Harold. Just like him.
I asked my mother, "Why?" She said, "Barack will go through the hardest test of all. Will this country transcend at looking at him because he is a Black man, but listen to him because he is just a man." I have heard this argument before, but she is right. This is the test.
For me, Barack Obama is like Harold Washington. That was the first campaign I worked on and he was the first vote I cast. It was hard living in Chicago then. Harold Washington ran against a well run machine. He was told he did not have enough experience. He was told he could not unite the City Council. He was smeared and called the "N" word repeatedly. But Harold kept walking, talking, to everyone in the city no matter what race, creed, ethnicity, they were. Blacks, Whites, Jews, Hispanics, Asians decided to back Harold Washington for Mayor of Chicago, because they were fed up of divisive politics.
That is why I am backing Barack Obama. I, too, am tired of divisive politics. I, too, am tired of nothing getting done and the pettiness of Washington, D.C. I, too, believe we can transcend past skin color. I, too, believe that Barack Obama can bring consensus to Washington, D.C. It has been that long, since we had it. It took me a while to commit to Barack, totally. In my personal search for a candidate, I was looking for the one to beat Clinton. Period. I knew the individual would go up against a machine and that they must have the confidence, money to do it. But, I was also looking for the roots candidate. The one to take it to the streets and people respond. I found that with Barack.
Well, my sister calls me "Sissy", and she is up in Minnesota getting trained to caucus for Obama. The first time she has ever done this. My niece is registered too, and is training to caucus for Obama.
I love my family. They are me. Funny, abrasive, caustic, athletic, realistic and loving. I would not be the woman I am without my mother and father. It was hard to raise us. They were always skeptical if folk would look at us different. Yes, they were very protective, still are today.
But now the four of us look at Barack Obama’s candidacy through the veil of my parents. My father is watching, quiet, cautious. My mother believes he is the candidate, post-Bush, to bring the luster back to the United States of America.
And me. Married to a former football player, at least he was that in college. Who had a candidate, lost a candidate, and now is going to back Barack, yes it took a long time. And we have two extremely spoiled puppy dogs who are about tired of hearing "Obama", as I get ready for my final trip to Iowa next week.
Is Barack all that and a bag of chips? Ummm. I don’t know, but as I eye the salt and pepper bag of Jay’s potato chips on my kitchen counter, he is looking real good to me.