I don't have to tell anyone here, but I'll do it anyway. Today's the day!
Ironically, to quote a semi-famous, clumsy Republican, our long national nightmare is over!
How many ways can I say it? My new favorite number is 44. After holding my breath since 2001, I'm exhaling. As a beaten, bloodied Rocky Balboa, I'm getting up and waving an exhausted Apollo Creed towards me for one more dose of fisticuffs (I grew up in and around Philadelphia; my apologies).
44.
What a number. Today, I think of the number 44 as it applies to my past.
I was 7 years old. 1973. I was living in Wilmington, North Carolina due to a downward financial spiral my family found itself ensconsed in. We lived in a house that my blunt, Republican father described as "A Big Square Box", complete with a facial expression that in restrospect I now recognize as one of embarassment. The house had regular infestations of mice and roaches, as it backed up to a field. Being that it was 1973 in North Carolina, the only TV we were able to watch in the afternoon was the Watergate hearings, with a certain local hero named Sam Irvin front and center. When my father invested in cable ("I'll be damned if I'm going to watch this Redneck trash Nixon all day!"; [isn't it amazing I turned out OK?]), we were able to see Sam Irvin AND a local channel devoted to weather radar. Ah, those early days of cable!
Today, Wilmington is known as a beach resort community that possesses a few bars owned by musician Dave Grohl (of the SEATTLE/D.C Grohls, mind you!). Back then, my portion of Wilmington was known for it's weekly cross burnings on Saturday night in the public park around the corner from my home.
Being a boy, I longed for sports news. It wasn't the same as living in and around Philadelphia or Miami, where I had lived in the years leading up to Wilmington. The closest professional sports team was the Atlanta Braves, and their only story of note was the exploits of another number 44, Hammerin' Hank Aaron.
Aaron was closing in on the most hallowed record in baseball, the all-time lead in home runs, finishing the 1973 season with 713 home runs, one short of Babe Ruth. What should have been a testament to his perseverance and career of excellence turned ugly, as Aaron received death threats full of racist viriol over the winter, most condemning him for having the temerity to be black and break a record set by a white man. In the Braves fourth game the following season, Hank Aaron became the home run king. The majority of America cheered as Aaron rounded the bases, his head down, as isolated fans ran onto the field to shake his hand, humility personified.
A few seasons ago, as Hank Aaron was surpassed by Barry Bonds, a man America still views mostly with suspicion, Aaron once again displayed the class and dignity I remember from all those years ago, as he congratulated Bonds via a scoreboard videotaped message on the night the record was broken. Aaron kept the hate mail as a reminder that racism and bigotry, no matter how opposed by the majority of our citizens, never truly disappears.
Today, Barack Obama becomes the first African-American President of the United States. Number 44! I view my vote for Obama in the same way that I viewed Hank Aaron breaking Babe Ruth's record all those years ago; this is the best man for the job. It's funny how eight years of leadership decisions best compared to a Three Stooges short in its scope of incompetence blinds one to color. We have endured eight years of reckless leadership lacking in humility. Barack Obama, with his disciplined and inspiring message on the campaign trail and his deliberate organizational skills, will be a welcome tonic for the many conditions he inherits that ail this nation.
As with Aaron, the majority of America, those of us who voted to elevate him to this office, will cheer. Others, like my father, a man with whom I can no longer associate due to his unabashed racism, this day only strengthens every twisted belief in their head. My day today is 98% hope and 2% vigilence. Just as with Hank Aaron, the number 44 of 35 years ago, I see today that racism and bigotry, now oppsed by a larger majority of our citizens than at any time in our history, never disappears. After eight years of embarassment on the worldstage, America can hold its head up high. The best man for the job has arrived.
One last thought. Just as America has been lead by brilliant white men in the past such as Abraham Lincoln and Franklin Roosevelt, only to plumb the depths of their own race by elevating Nixon and George W. Bush to the highest office in the land, and as Hank Aaron has been passed by the likes of Barry Bonds, so too will we more than likely one day have a terrible president who is an African-American. Today, I'll revel in Barack Obama, the right man at the right time kicking open the right door.