When they declared Barack Obama the winner, all of the big-screen televisions in Times Square started projecting images of him and his family with the subtext "President Elect." And I just started screaming, "I can't believe it!" I was screaming and crying so loud that three photographers took a picture of me, and I lost my voice for the next three days.
In that moment, it was as if my entire existence on this planet had been validated. After 24 years of feeling inadequate, inferior, not good enough, not smart enough, not enough in general, misplaced and unaccepted -- finally, I felt validated, worthy, capable, equal and unfalteringly human. The richness and satisfaction of those alien feelings rocked me to the core and shook me in a way that only tragedy had before. They caused a cosmic self-reassessment of my potential and my place in this world.
I just kept looking at Barack Obama and that glistening brown skin and tried to reconcile the fact of his brown skin with his election to the nation's highest office. I could not fully grasp the enormity of the moment. Does this moment represent some seismic shift in consciousness? How close are we to achieving some universal unity? I don't know, but I pondered with a new optimism and a new hope for who we might become as a nation.
Standing there in the middle of Times Square surrounded by thousands of people while Barack's brown face flashed before me, I thought of my family.
I thought of my father, who was watching from Cleveland and who declared, "Baracky Obama is the president of these here United States. Demmycrat down the line!" He then chanted, "Baracky Obama! Baracky Obama!" And I heard the joy in his voice. A living, breathing joy that symbolized some sort of awakening in him, even if only a temporary one. It was a textured, bittersweet joy visible only through layers of pain and sadness. I don't think he has experienced that kind of pride and joy in all his 53 years on this planet. His has been a life of quiet desperation and personal defeat. He watched his father sharecrop the land and then he moved to Cleveland in search of opportunity only to find clouds of despair where his distant dreams once dwelled. I wanted to tell him, "See Dad, your life has value, too." I wanted to tell him, but I was crying too much.
I thought of Mr. Richardson. A close friend, who unlike my father, was part of a generation of black men who earned college degrees but had still been denied access. Denied, despite their attainment of knowledge. Denied, despite their intelligence, integrity and inherent self-worth. Denied right in "these here United States of America." And then there was "Baracky Obama." Accepted.
I thought of my brothers, neither of whom have high school diplomas. I hoped my oldest brother was watching from prison. I hoped that he could learn to value his life, that he could feel like there was a chance for him in this world, and that it was possible for him to live a decent life on this planet. I thought of my youngest brother, who is illiterate, but still managed to help register voters in Ohio. I imagined him passing out forms that he could not read, but whose importance he could understand along with the sense of the urgency.
Then, I thought of myself in recent months and how I have been defeated by my own fears, cynicism and disillusionment. I kept thinking that if Barack Obama could make it -- could completely annihilate seemingly insurmountable barriers -- then I could make it. Somehow, I could make it.
Finally, I thought of the human race and how people fight endlessly for their humanity and how that fight has led us to this point. I thought of all those shoulders on which President Barack Hussein Obama is standing. Or as Alice Walker stated, President Obama has delivered the "torch so many others before him carried." She is right; all those runners, running that metaphorical freedom and equality through the pages of history were trying to get there, trying to get here. They finally passed it on along.
What a phenomenal time to be alive. What a phenomenal time to be human. I am still in awe.
