My faith in you was planted in the summer of 2004 when my 14-year-old self saw you give the Keynote Address at the Democratic National Convention. I didn't know much, but I knew a good speech when I saw it. And in a period of minutes, I became a forever fan. Because in the world I grew up in, you had your family, your friends, your sports team, your faith (about in that order), and you had your Democrats. We cheered for you and believed in you in ways that is only analogous to sports, but we knew meant so much more.
Sophomore year of high school we did a project where we chose a "Great Mind"-- a person who's had a profound effect on our world. I convinced my teacher to be open-minded when it came to expectations (and grades!) and to allow me to be someone who could have potential effects in the future. I chose you, Barack. I read Dreams from my Father, and wore a suit, and told all my classmates who I was supposed to be because it wasn't obvious based on physical resemblance. You sent me an autographed photo in response to a letter I'd mailed to your senate office. It's been on display in my parents' house ever since. I told people you'd be running for president soon enough. I'm not always right on things like that, but I'm glad I was with you.
Two years later when your presidential campaign came to my town, I waited in line for hours to shake your hand. And six months after that, I cast my very first ballot with the arrow filled in next to your name. You were the first of many: the first black president, the first president I voted for, and the first president I had a hand in electing. You're still the only president to be the latter, and I hope to God you won't be the last to be the former. I celebrated your election by raining cereal at a spontaneous street party attended by me and my new college friends, our relationships fledgling. We'll forever be bonded by the abundant face paint and euphoria floating through the crowd that night. A consistent bass drum rhythm to the beat of a "Joe Bi-Den! Joe Bi-Den!" chant is definitively etched in my memory.
While you were in office, my support never wavered. It was clear in all the paraphernalia I amassed over your tenure: a first family wallet I bought in NYC, a Barack Obama beach towel from Honolulu, a t-shirt of your face alongside Martin Luther King Jr's. And though it may seem like I supported your presidency in the same way I would support my favorite Disney character, I guarantee my shallow materialism actually represents my utmost reverence and admiration. More than once, I watched your State of the Union Address from a grainy live stream on my phone, at a bus stop, or in between classes. I tuned into your 2012 DNC convention speech on vacation in Las Vegas just after I'd won $30 on slots. I teared up, and not because of the money. Because, you were on the verge of "pulling it all off" -- becoming our President twice. I watched you succeed: by drinking champagne with my dad when healthcare legislation passed in the House, and by cheering on the streets of SF when the Supreme Court said "Love Wins".
Even with my superficial but heartfelt displays of outspoken support, I know you are flawed. I am not ignorant of the hardships you encountered, mistakes you made and criticism you faced. You may not have been a perfect leader, but you exuded intelligence, sincerity and a message of unity at all times. You made everyone, regardless of intellect, class, creed or color, feel like they mattered and have value. You told us dreamers, repeatedly and often, that: Yes We Can. Actually Will I Am told us that, but it was almost as good.
In 2004, you called on us to believe in a Politics of Hope-- "the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores;... the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too."
Tonight, twelve and a half years later, you gave your Farewell Address after two terms in the highest office of our country. I couldn't help but think that America sure had a place for you Barack. And we always will.
Forever a fan,
Carly
No comments:
Post a Comment