Home > Beautifully Blended, Does anybody look like me? > A Letter to my Son on Election Night…

A Letter to my Son on Election Night…

I didn’t write this… but these little snippets sum up why I screamed the roof off the house before CNN had even formally announced they’d called California for Obama… I saw the electoral count jump up by the exact amount of Cali’s electoral votes.  It’s why I started to cry when I tucked my kids in bed on November 4th, 2008. When I saw the first family announced for the first time the waterworks started again… and lasted through his entire acceptance speech. I’d almost gotten enough duct tape on the pipes as Barack & Michelle were walking off the stage… until I saw them give each other high fives. 

It’s why I was glad five days had gone past when a member of my church family, an older redhaired, ponytailed guy of german ancestry, smiled at me with genuine affection and said, “Did you ever think you’d see kids that look like yours in the white house?” I could respond without blowing snot bubbles, that no, I hadn’t.  I had wished that I would, and had hoped desperately that my children would see it in their lifetimes, but I had not had a true belief that I would ever see it in mine.

I did not want you to grow up believing that bitter remnants of the past could hold power over your future. I wanted to be able tell you that it wasn’t true—that you could be anything you wanted to be. But I couldn’t quite believe it myself. Now I do…

….technically you are biracial—but that’s black in America. I leave that for you to figure out. For now just understand that your race is part of who you are, but it isn’t all of who you are. If anyone doubts your “authenticity,” you can tell them that you want to be as black as the man behind the desk in the Oval Office.

A Letter to My Son On Election Night

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