JUST HOW FAR WE HAVE TRAVELED

On the day of MLK, Jr's birthday, I thought I would reflect on my travels with the President-elect and the road our country has traveled. It was over 4 years ago when I first heard of and from Barack Obama. He was the keynote speaker at the DNC in Boston. Though we did not have cable and despite the fact that the major networks shamelessly decided to abridge their convention coverage and were not airing his speech, I decided to go to our basement in Baltimore and tune in to PBS. The reception was poor. I saw wavy lines and several images of Mr. Lehrer on the screen, but none of that mattered once the speaker mounted the podium. He spoke of a country that was more than a collection of disparate parts. He spoke of a new kind of politics and decorum that had been ignored or impugned by recent politicians. He spoke of hope and the audacity of that basic human aspiration...no matter what the odds.

It was that night when I knew he would be a President of the United States, who happend to be black. His color and his background were inherent in who he was and what had brought him to that moment, but they were merely parts of the sum. That is what inspired me and so many other Americans after his "sermon" was done.

I kept an eye on him and heard the rumors of those who said he would run someday but that his time was not now. I went so far as to buy and place on my car an Obama '08 bumper sticker in the Fall of 2006, well before he declared his intention to run. When he finally announced his candidacy that cold morning in Springfield in early 2007, I was thrilled. I did not think about the sharks with whom he would swim. I did not think about the skeptics and the critics. I thought that his and our time had come. While, in my heart I always knew that winning would be a long-shot, I never doubted that he should win. First came the official bumper sticker. Then the lawn sign. Donations. Conversations. Inspiration.

For the first time in my adult life (and I am one who has eschewed movements, teams, etc), I joined a campaign for change. I made phone calls. I sent out a flood of emails to old friends and family imploring them to donate, vote, and work towards our common purpose. I even mananged to rekindle a few friendships and relationships along the way through my efforts by reminding myself and my estranged loved ones and friends about the common bonds, which had not been broken between us.

There were big moments along the way- phone-banking (Texas, Oregon, Indiana, Virginia), door-knocking (North Portland), and rallies I attended (Portland in September 2007, Portland in May 2008, and St. Paul in June 2008, the night Barack won the nomination). I was elated at the nomination and watched the proceedings in Denver with rapt attention. Things got ugly in the fall, and the gloves came off in St. Paul. Yet, I never doubted that we were on the right side of history and that this campaign was about more than words; at its heart, in my heart, it was about the chance to make the world right again, kind again, just again.

On November 4th, America made the tough choice. It made the wise choice. It made the only choice it could make given the times in which we found ourselves. Around 8PM PDT, it was certain, although as soon as Ohio, the bellwether, was called, we all knew it was over. I was happy. I was pleased. I was inspired like millions of other Americans.

It was not until today though, on the day of the preacher's birthday and the eve of the Inauguration of Barack Hussein Obama, that it really hit me... like a ton of bricks ... what we had accomplished and how far this country had traveled in its 233 year history. Today, I listened to various speeches and watched various campaign videos on-line. First, I heard the last few minutes of President-elect Obama's acceptance speech from that glorious November night when he talked about how far an elderly African-American woman in Georgia had seen this country come in her lifetime. Then, I watched the will.i.am "Yes We Can" video, which was inspired by a loss, not a victory, in New Hampshire. Finally, I found the "A More Perfect Union" speech from March, 2008 in Philadelphia, where our country began. When Barack told the story of the young white woman, Ashley Baia, and the elderly African-American man whom she had inspired and with whom she had connected, it sunk in how far I and we as a nation had traveled.

Just forty years ago, my marriage to a white woman would have been considered illegal in many states. Just forty years ago, admission to the best schools in this land would have been an impossibility for me and my children. Just forty years ago, a preacher was killed for daring to have a dream. For the first time in this journey, I cried. Not tears of joy but tears of disbelief. Despite the fact that I had never doubted the righteousness of our cause, I had never really believed that the dam of reality would give way to the flood of hope... that we could travel that far.