While I was aware yesterday -- standing in line before dawn with my wife and our six-month-old daughter -- that I was on the cusp of history, I can't imagine that I was the only one who saw it more meaningful and symbolic in cultural, political and generational terms than in racial terms.
I voted for Barack Obama because I believed -- and believe even more today -- that he has the intelligence, the discernment, the gravity and the demonstrated ability to pull people together to create the potential for energy and change. I voted for Barack Obama because his vision is aligned with the vision I have for my child's future.
That said, I was aware last night and all day today that Barack Obama represents something that touches me deeply but which I can never fully understand.
The man who manages our mailroom at work grew up black in Richmond in the 1950s and 1960s, and I have listened intently to his stories of his life and the changes he's seen -- especially changes in how our region deals with race.
This morning, we stopped in the hallway and talked about the significance of this election. He said his mother and aunt, both in their eighties, kept telling him to be quiet last night because they were hanging on every word being uttered by the newscasters covering the returns. And he said that when he thinks back to the days when he had to drive to the back of restaurants along U.S. Route 1 in order to eat, he finds it hard to believe there is an African-American preparing to lead our nation.
The back of the bus. Separate water fountains. A "coloreds only" elevator in Miller & Rhoads. Lower wages for harder work. Segregated schools. A fear to make eye contact, to speak up, to live fully.
These things, mostly, are vestiges of our history, but their shadow has lingered across this country quietly. Last night shone a bright light on them, and they began a frantic retreat into our history books.
My daughter may know heartache and fear when she grows older, but she is less likely to experience the heartache or fear of living in a society where skin color drives separation. She will enter adulthood as a minority -- a white woman -- in one of the most culturally and racially diverse countries in history. And it will feel normal.
That's something of what President Obama means to me tonight.
