Obama

What is it (my hidden prejudices, my humanity?)that will not let me stop crying these past few days. I am whitey, white, white and I am reduced to a sopping mess every time I hear a person of color explain why they love this man and what he's done.

My privilege is being torn down and it feels. Good. Someone on the radio the other day said she was overjoyed not because Barack Obama is black, but because he comes without a pedigree. That that speaks more to her than sharing the color of their skin. That they share a common history is far more poignant.

And then there are John Lewis and Jesse Jackson; mother-fuckin Alice Walker, too. I can't relate in the slightest how this must feel to them. I know I feel good, but I don't really know why.

I mean I know I loathe hate. That I want every human condition recognized, validated and embraced. I know that I CAN NOT WAIT to see Sasha and Melia jumping on the beds of the White House. I know that I can't stop crying. I know that I hear him speak and I feel proud. I know that it is an earth-shattering event in our sometimes not so FCC approved airing of history that this brilliant, composed, accomplished, loved and loving man is now the President of the United States. But I don't really know why I am so affected.

Obviously, I will never understand it fully, this emotional waterfall Barack Obama has caused for me and a lot of other white people and I'm going to have to learn to live with that.

I'm digging here, people. I'm looking for something in all of this. I want to feel good, be a good person. There is something here so deep that I can't even see it in myself, let alone touch it & try to figure it out, mold into a thing that do recognize.

In the meantime, I will rejoice in the fact that Barack Obama and all he means is indeed here and things will be different; that I do know