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Last Updated: Feb 25th, 2009 - 11:15:33 |
Dear Daughters,
Your president is Black.
I never thought that I'd ever say those words to you; in fact I can't say that I even imagined what it would be like to say those words to you. For so many of us, a Black president was just some far off wish, but no more far off than those once and always proud New World Africans who dreamed of freedom by "climbing into their heads" as the late Sekou Sundiata once described it. Perhaps that is why so many little black boys and girls have been told over the years, that they too might grow up to become President. And guess what babies--one of us did.
When I was your age, the world was in transition, but filled with the promise of a "new day" ("can you feel it, it's a brand new day" as they sang in the Emerald Cities of Chocolate Lands all across the nation). Two of our great soothsayers (so many of whom we so wish were earthbound to experience this day) captured the expectations of that era with a song called "To Be Young, Gifted, and Black" (and I know, you've heard it many times. When I was your age though, the song was one of the great gifts given to those of us who were expected to most benefit from the struggles of that moment. Years before on-line social networks existed, it was the music that was our social network, and Ms. Simone and Mr. Irvine's "Young Gifted and Black" went viral, finding resonance throughout the culture. As a testament to the song's power, so many of our worldly geniuses paid tribute to it, including the late Donny Hathaway, Les McCann (who years before asked the question "Compared to What?"), and Ms. Aretha Franklin, who was simply regal singing "My Country Tis of Thee" on this great day. It was like there was collective desire for my generation to always be reminded of our birthright: "You are Young, Gifted, and Black."
***
I saw my dad cry. Once. It was on the occasion of the passing of his big sister. Somehow amidst all the baseball games that we had shared and Sunday mornings of eggs and Sam Cooke, this one image of my dad crying gave me more of a sense of who he was than any of the conversations that we ever had. My daughters, you have seen your own dad cry quite often. And it has been important for you to see me in that state, giving you, I hope, a fuller view of the passions that drive your father. And I cried that day back in February when we watched Will.I.Am's "Yes We Can" video for the first time. Then Senator Obama could have gone on to lose every primary and caucus after that and remained just a footnote to history and we would have still had that moment.
In my mind at least, our shared viewing of that "Yes, We Can"--after all the lectures you had attended, all the music you were forced to listen too, all the stories that had to be told and our annual viewing of Boycott--marked the moment when our journeys really became linked. The process wasn't just mine or your mother's but it was ours and I made up my mind that night that you two would travel with me through the process of electing the next president. Your grandfather--my father--would make his transition a few weeks later and he too became part of that journey. When I entered the voting booth in November of 2008 to cast my vote, you two accompanied me, as did the spirit of your grandfather. Had then Senator Obama lost the national election, We would have still had that moment.
***
As the Gods would have it, snow came to North Carolina, and there was little choice but for us all to curl up on our beat-up couch in front of the TV to watch this historical day. Daughters, your rhythms have defined so much of my life these past few years and this day was no different. To my oldest daughter, may this moment give you the faith that the passions that you already own--Green justice, peace, and the humane treatment of animals--can fully flourish in a world where there have never been any boundaries to what you wanted to achieve, but because of our new President, hopefully you will find less resistance to your desires. As history was literally happening, it was you, my youngest daughter, that I was drawn too. Like the new President's littlest one, you too could not keep still--were unimpressed with the pace of the moment--and I understood. Your energy was just a simple reminder (as you do so often) that we needed to move forward. There are many moments awaiting us.
© Copyright 2006 SeeingBlack.com
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