The fella and I got married on Sunday in New York City, in a lovely, small ceremony at the top of the Beekman Tower. Our wedding party was bipartisan, so we kept talk of politics to a dull murmur. Monday, however, we spent traveling home. Everywhere we went, everyone we met, was full of hope and joy. But nothing beat the elderly black man we witnessed at the polls this morning.
Since DailyKos has been such a refuge for both of us these past two years, I wanted to share our stories here, just for posterity.
Thanks everyone here for all you do. This is one of the most moving days of my life.
First, there was the doorman at the Soho Grand Hotel, where we spent our enchanted wedding night. As he ushered us into us cab in the morning, he admitted that he was less concerned about whether his taxes go up or down than he was about our standing in the world. It turns out he works part of the year in Ghana, coaching a soccer team.
"You used to drive through the streets and see posters everywhere of Osama bin Laden," he told us. "He was the first person people felt represented them in the world." Now all of the posters have been replaced -- with posters of Obama. "It makes them feel completely differently about America that a half-African black man could be elected president of this country."
Then there was the beautiful blonde flight attendant with the great hair on American Airlines, where we'd snagged a rare upgrade to business class. She wore a button in honor of Betty Ong, the flight attendant on Flight 11 who had the strength of character to make a calm phone call to American Airlines emergency. "You really saw her training in that moment," she said proudly.
"We just got married," we told her (we told everyone).
"How wonderful! Right before this amazing election."
"Are you hoping what we're hoping?" we asked.
"Change?" she said, gingerly.
"Yes!" we said.
We then let loose with a whispered torrent of words about polls, dirty McCain campaign tricks and our hope that an Obama presidency would win us back the international esteem we squandered after 9/11. At the end of the flight, she presented us with a fine bottle of wine, both to celebrate our nuptials and because it was such a relief, she said, to talk to kindred spirits.
And the taxi driver from LAX, a Greek-Armenian American who'd been raised in Iran, with siblings in Paris, Zurich and Athens. "We all love him," he said of Obama. "My brothers and sisters, they yell at me: 'You'd better vote for that Obama!"
This morning, I escorted my new husband to the polls (I mailed my ballot in last week). We live on the diverse side of the tracks in Venice, California; the neighborhood around us is still predominantly black and Latino, even as the streets closer to the ocean have gentrified. There was a line; we were happy to see it.
After a friendly half hour in the slowly creeping line, a young black man drove up and helped an elderly black man out of his car. "Go on, grandad," he said. "They'll let you go first. Just tell them you have a hard time standing."
"Oh, all right," said the older man. He wore a loosely perched baseball cap, and a light brown canvas jacket. He could hardly walk, but he was smiling wide, laughing and joking as he came forward on his grandson's arm. We all made way for him without a word.
"I guess I gotta get past you," he said to us, apologizing for jumping in ahead. "I gotta vote for that black kid for president!"
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UPDATE: Now that this got on the Rec List -- the best wedding present ever, by the way, so thank you all -- I thought I'd add a video to weep to, courtesy of Joy from Illinois. She was up all night working on it. Thanks and props to Joy.