Number 149

 From Barack to Amanda

Way back in 2008, after Barack Obama was elected president, Rolling Stone magazine published a special issue celebrating his victory. Among other things was a folded poster of him attached to the magazine along a perforated edge. I purchased this issue for my wife, and put it in her stocking that Christmas. Perhaps because it had potential as a collector's item, neither Rebecca or I ever detached the poster. Fast forward ten years, and Grace, now 18 and looking forward to her first opportunity to vote in a national election come November, finds the magazine and decides she needs that poster of Barack, stat. And yes, I was, ahem, displeased when I realized what she had done. For one thing, she'd done a piss, poor job of detaching the poster, leaving its right side edge all raggedy. But hell, it's really hard to stay mad at Grace, because her lower lip has this way of quivering just so when she knows you're upset with her. The tempest soon passed, and soon the poster was hanging at a weird angle on the pie cupboard in the dining room, that somehow matched the torn edge perfectly.

As it turns out, this all occurred during a time when our small, but mighty, family was gathered together for some holiday or the other. We started playing cards together. Specifically euchre. If you know the game, fine, but no matter if you don't. The important thing for you to know is that after each hand is dealt, someone needs to name a trump suit. Normally this is not a politically loaded hot potato, but as it happened in the midst of the 45th's presidential term, it became increasing aggravating for me and my family of beautiful liberal snowflakes to use the word "trump" at least once each hand. It was Grace who, looking to the poster hanging akimbo on the pie cupboard, suggested that instead of calling a new "trump" suit each hand, we call an "obama" suit instead. Among much laughter, we all agreed this was a fine suggestion. And thus we completed the card game. As I recall, I soundly defeated everyone else at the table. (What? This is my blog, and I'm allowed to remember the outcome of the card game anyway I want to.)

When it comes to remembering just how the Barack poster ended up on the inside of our front door (see above), I don't know exactly how it happened, but it did. It was approximately life size (perhaps a bit bigger, but I think even President Obama himself will admit that he has a bigger head than normal), and it hung at a point that reflected his actual 6'2" height. Cindy and I soon realized that walking down stairs each morning and seeing his picture was a comfort amidst the increasing insanity of the Trump presidency. So there he stayed.

Prior to the election last November, I would often stop and contemplate the poster, as well as his successor's full frontal assault on both democracy and decency. Cindy and I both hoped that his vigil would soon be over, and, following a Joe Biden victory, we would be able to take the poster down. Well, Biden did win, but it soon became clear that we needed Barack to stay up - at least through the inauguration on January 20th. Well, that date has come and gone, and Barack is still there. Cindy and I discussed it last week, and wondered about what to do. It was she who came up with the answer.

There was much to be appreciate at the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. Given the specter of the insurrection of January 6th, it was inspirational that it was happening at all. The Gaga sang the ever loving sh*t out of our National anthem, and the benediction delivered by the Rev. Dr. Sylvester Beaman brought tears to my eyes. But c'mon people, are any of you able to claim that Amanda Gorman didn't leave you short of breath and goose pimpled as she read/performed her poem, "The Hill That We Climb"? Cindy and I were watching together, and when Amanda finished, we both looked to each other, as if to confirm for one another what we had just witnessed. There she stood, a beacon of hope dressed in sunlight yellow contrasted against her beautiful brown skin, 

       "For there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it. 
        If only we are brave enough to be it."

What a beautiful, hopeful call to action to help heal our fractured world. What a beautiful, hopeful reminder for Cindy and me to see each morning as we rise to start a new day. So, thank you, Barack, for helping us get through the tough times. Thank you, Amanda, for pointing the way forward.