Late fall 2008. I pushed my four month old baby in a stroller while holding the hand of my four year old son. We walked, kicking leaves of orange and red down the sidewalks of our neighborhood as the sun set. In my hand I held a roster of names and addresses. Obamana! Zack yelled, pumping his tiny fist, we had trained him well (although he had some difficulty with pronunciation.) We knocked on doors of registered Democrats reminding them to get out and vote. It was only one night. It wasn't much, but I felt proud to be part of a movement.
Flash forward, January 2009, inauguration day! I gathered with a group of other Denver moms and babies in a living room. We drank mimosas and shed tears as we watched the first African American president come into office. I was in awe. It wasn't just that we had elected a minority. We elected a leader. Hearing Obama speak, I felt that we finally had a person in charge who cared and who was a good, decent person.
Has his presidency been perfect? Of course not. But look what the poor man walked into. No human on earth could have cleaned up such a mess in a mere four years. But I trust him. We share values. Marriage equality and access to healthcare, women's rights, integrity. I like this man. I am proud of this man.
I am happy tonight. We have re-elected a good person. Our country is in good hands. I'm proud of my country.