All at once it hit me this weekend: A desperate, urgent need to attend the inauguration. A friend was kind enough to offer a spare ticket and the last 24 hours has been a scramble to try to get a train, get a ride, get someone to watch my two sick kids including the one with the double ear infection…
I’ve officially conceded defeat. And I’m a little crushed.
I worked so hard on the presidential campaign myself, and I felt like going to the inauguration would be this great culmination of not just the months of work, but the eight years of heartache that proceeded it.
It’s strange to feel like progressive politics are “in” again. I’ve spent so long being the angry underdog, stocking up on President Poopyhead baby tees and driving around with a W=Not My President decal in the rear view window. You mean I’m going to look forward to the State of the Union Addresses? You mean I’m going to be the one with the framed photo of the president on my desk? It’s like going from the counterculture to the culture, from the angry villager brandishing the pitchfork at the castle door to the guy on the other side of the door saying, Come on in, you angry villagers. Let’s work this out. It’s warm in here and the little lady just whipped up some mutton canapés.
It’s weird.
It’s cool.
And I suppose being in New York with my family tomorrow and a few friends I love isn’t necessarily second best to being in DC in person tomorrow.
I’ve been struggling with how to describe the importance to Thalia, especially without getting into all the racial stuff that she doesn’t need to know..
Well, this is a very special time when a very special guy will become the president, someone we’re all hoping will make things better for you and your sister and everyone else in this country. And I want you to really remember this because Sage won’t. And for the rest of your life people will ask you if you have any memories of the Obama inauguration. You’ll say, “No, I was only three. But I remember mommy bringing me into the voting booth and letting me pull the lever until the little X popped up next to his name. And I remember how my parents were so excited watching the TV all day, and they got me an Obama shirt that I wore.”
And then you’ll tell them that you don’t remember the swearing in much, but that you do remember thinking that there was something very exciting going on. And that your mommy turned to you and said, “Thalia, these are the beginning of the Obama years.”
And you’ll be able to say that, because you were only three, you actually don’t remember anything else. You may have been born during Bush, but The Obama years were all you knew.”
“Mommy,” Thalia said, “you have some water coming out of your eyes right now. Right there.”
Indeed I did.
