Ok, my first diary, so be gentle!
With all the candidate diaries out there, I thought some might enjoy the diversion of one person's peculiar and personal voyage to becoming an Obama supporter. Tomorrow are the Maine caucuses, and I'm looking forward to supporting Barack for many reasons, large and small. Mostly, of course, they are purely political. But in my case, at least, there's a personal element, based on a couple of encounters with the candidate, at least one entirely unforeseen. They may seem insignificant to some, but all I can say is they have, to me, reinforced what I'd already be inclined to do.
More below the fold.
Like many, I watched Obama give his riveting 2004 DNC speech and was blown away. I'd never heard such an inspirational, pitch-perfect call to American unity and promise. I'd grown up Irish Catholic in Massachusetts and was thus weaned to some extent on the JFK legend. I was only nine in November 1963, but vividly recall the reaction of the nation and, of ocurse, my family, to his loss. As I got older and interested in politics I embraced RFK and MLK, read and heard their great speeches, and mourned when I felt that hope, too, lost to violence. For a long time, no one ever resurrected that feeling.
Watching the 2004 address I was revived. This guy is something! I started calculating when he might be Presidential timber. I assumed, of course, that Kerry would serve eight years, and presumably Edwards another eight. Ok, a long time to wait, but all the better that he'll be both thoroughly seasoned and, I was sure, still the brilliant and charismatic speaker I'd just seen.
Well, we all know how that went. At the time I thought, well, come 2008 I'll have chance to elect a woman president. (I wasn't sure Edwards would run; I was sure Hillary would.) I had my reservations about Hillary (mostly relating to Bill), but they seemed minor in the great scheme of things.
Fast forward to October 2006. I was passing through the Denver airport. Oddly, I'd just rushed by the bookstore next to security which featured a display of The Audacity of Hope. I'd read Dreams From My Father and loved it. I was rushing to the plane, though, so I figured I'd grab the book another time.
The seurity line wasn't long; I filed through and was directed to one of the scanners. I was distracted as I approached, grabbing for my laptop and getting ready to pull off my shoes. As I pulled up a bin and tossed in my shoes I finally glanced at the guy ahead of me. A brief nanosecond thought: jeez, that guy looks just like Barack Obama. Hell, it is Barack Obama. He looked at me and obviously saw that I recognized him, and smiled. I stuck out my hand, introduced myself. We filed on through. On the other side we gathered our things and spoke for a few minutes. He asked what brought me to Denver, where I was headed, what I did for a living. He looked me in the eye, seemed genuinely interested. We chatted for a bit. I told him how much I'd enjoyed Dreams, joked that I'd just passed on a chance to get Audacity. "Make sure you get it at home," he said.
Then I did what I'd never done on the few occasions that I'd bumped into famous people. I asked him for an autograph, specifically for my grandson. All I had handy was my receipt for an upgrade. He took it and asked for a name. "Jai," I said, and this is what he wrote:
http://s265.photobucket.com/...
Dream big dreams. Indeed. My grandson is half Thai. (As a Notre Dame grad, I'm planning on him being one of the Fighting ThaIrish.) So after he'd signed and I'd thanked him I said something more personal than I would normally think I was capable of saying to a near-stranger. "By the way," I said, "He's two. Promise me that in ten years I won't have to tell him that he can become America's first biracial President." He laughed. "Ten years? I hope not."
So there. I take credit. He's running for Jai.
We went our separate ways, and I filed away my impressions that this guy was not just a remarkable speaker and politician, but, apparently, a really decent guy. Once he announced, I spent a lot of time combing the details of his plan and record. Sure, he's an impressive guy, but what's he want to do? Can he do it? Since this isn't a diary about policy, I'll simply say that while I wasn't necessarily sold on every detail of every position, the combination of policy, record, intelligence and character sold me.
September 2007. I'd already written a decent check to the campaign when I got invited to a Portland-area fundraiser. One of those 'intimate' meet-&-greets. $500 a pop, but I already knew I'd be maxing out, so why not now? I decided to take my oldest son, a linguist who'd spent a year after high school in Indonesia. There was, naturally, a chance for a photo op with the candidate. I knew what my son would do, and sure enough, after we were both introduced, he said to Barack in Indonesian "Nice to meet you. How's your Indonesian these days?" Barack responded instantly, in Indonesian: "Not what it was. I don't get to use it much. Your accent is great!" They chatted briefly about Indonesia and languages until I felt compelled to move the line along. Later, despite an awful cold, he gave a rousing talk covering all the bases of critical policy choices on the war, the economy, the environment, and more.
Since then I've continued to follow the speeches, read the policy papers. I've spent months advocating him to friends and family across the country, have battled the email smears, have sent more money. I can't wait to literally be counted tomorrow.
This isn't about Barack Obama the person. Wait; yes, it is. The person who's brilliant, personable, curious, urbane, and genuinely interested in people he meets in the street, or in an airport. Who's lived abroad in a different culture, speaks other languages, has seen more than most and has had the insight to translate his life's extraordinary experiences into a plan for restoring dignity to America's name and decency to its politics. I don't apologize for finding him inspirational. I'm tired of the cynicism and faux sophistication that deems hope naive and a willingness to be inspired a sign of immaturity. I'm 53 and I've seen a lot. I've worked in factories and in courtrooms, I've raised kids and seen friends and family die. I've traveled and read. I've seen politicians come and go. I've loved and lost, and loved again. I've been disappointed by some and immensely gratified by as many. I know an opportunity when I see one. I'm fired up, ready to go. Yes, we can. For us, and for Jai.
http://s265.photobucket.com/...