A meme was going around recently asking what makes you cry and I replied, not much. But yesterday's inauguration provided image after image image that made the tears well up --
.-- from the massive jubilant throngs of people
celebrating in the icy weather . . .
to Aretha Franklin belting out 'My Country 'tis of Thee' . . . to a stellar quartet that included Yo Yo Ma and Itzack Perlman performing the old Shaker tune 'Simple Gifts' . . . to the Rev.Joseph Lowery's stirring benediction . . . to shots of people celebrating, not just around the country but around the world . . .
to this picture a friend sent me, that seems to sum up the hope and the promise of this new beginning . . . I spent the middle of the day with tears of happiness in my eyes.
Some folks said they just weren't much into watching all the carrying-on -- even though they'd voted for Obama. Just swear him in and let him get to work, they said. And that's the way I've always felt -- before this. I've never been remotely excited by an inauguration -- even Kennedy's when so many of my peers in college were wild with joy.
But this -- this election is this is the first time EVER I've gone so far as to send money and put a bumper sticker on my car.
It began merely as a fervent desire for change in the White House -- but the more I paid attention to this guy, the more I liked him. None of this Messiah stuff, just a pleasure in listening to someone who was intelligent and seemed rational.
It was only after his election that the magnificent historical implications of his heritage really began to sink in. You see, I remember the separate water fountains, the bitter racism of George Wallace,Orval Faubus, and their ilk, as well as the more polite racism of almost everyone I'd ever known.
I remember the separate plate and silverware my grandmother kept for the use of the black woman who cleaned her house and cooked many of the meals.
So, yeah, I was touched and amazed and joyful yesterday, seeing it all play out against such a backdrop of joyful folks of all shades. I kept thinking things like . . . Wow! . . Mine eyes have seen the glory . . . Nunc dimittis . . . that I have lived to see this day.
It's not the man, though I like him and hope he'll prevail. What had me on the verge of tears at so many times yesterday was the magnificent spectacle of our land beginning to live up to itself.
We're not there yet -- but it's a fine start.
Some folks said they just weren't much into watching all the carrying-on -- even though they'd voted for Obama. Just swear him in and let him get to work, they said. And that's the way I've always felt -- before this. I've never been remotely excited by an inauguration -- even Kennedy's when so many of my peers in college were wild with joy.
But this -- this election is this is the first time EVER I've gone so far as to send money and put a bumper sticker on my car.
It began merely as a fervent desire for change in the White House -- but the more I paid attention to this guy, the more I liked him. None of this Messiah stuff, just a pleasure in listening to someone who was intelligent and seemed rational.
It was only after his election that the magnificent historical implications of his heritage really began to sink in. You see, I remember the separate water fountains, the bitter racism of George Wallace,Orval Faubus, and their ilk, as well as the more polite racism of almost everyone I'd ever known.
I remember the separate plate and silverware my grandmother kept for the use of the black woman who cleaned her house and cooked many of the meals.
So, yeah, I was touched and amazed and joyful yesterday, seeing it all play out against such a backdrop of joyful folks of all shades. I kept thinking things like . . . Wow! . . Mine eyes have seen the glory . . . Nunc dimittis . . . that I have lived to see this day.
It's not the man, though I like him and hope he'll prevail. What had me on the verge of tears at so many times yesterday was the magnificent spectacle of our land beginning to live up to itself.
We're not there yet -- but it's a fine start.
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