For once in my life I wish I was like everyone else, journalistically able to sum up my innermost feelings in such a succinct fashion - immediately after a country with a history of contempt for African descendants elected the son of a Kenyan to the highest office in the land. Some truly beautiful things have been written online and in print about November 4th 2008, I sincerely tip my hat to the plethora of wordsmiths out there who have the god given ability to corral so many emotions at light speed. Even though I'm the human embodiment of speed, an impatient pre-ejaculator with an ornery hair trigger - the bitter irony of my snails pace approach when waxing poetic about our first black president isn't lost on me. To be completely honest, between the absolute shock that our country electorally did the right thing, the joy of the McCain Campaign being on the business end of an embarrassing defeat, and all of the life altering encounters concerning this election that I've been privy to - that mind-numbing clusterfuck of emotions rendered me virtually useless blogging wise.
I couldn't find the words to express the extreme pride I felt when my best friend in the world, lifelong republican who voted for Bush twice and listens to that proverbial ass-hat Michael Savage - decided to cast his vote for Barack Obama after Sarah Palin pushed him over the edge. I didn't particularly think that a simple blog post could contain the overwhelming joy I felt when the American people let out a gigantic "Fuck you" concerning Sean Hannity's persistent dedication to slime and that dirty secessionist from Alaska and her tired guilt-by-association shtick. I just couldn't find a way to blog about my mother, a woman so strong that she very cavalierly blew smoke rings at my grandmothers funeral and cursed my old man for not taking proper care of himself mere moments after he flat-lined - the way she sobbed uncontrollably when it became apparent that Barack Obama would be our next president is something that will be with me until my dying day. There were no creative segues available for the elderly black man I met at an election watching party at a nearby bar. After I shook one of his weathered hands that I'm sure has seen a half century of hard work, he pulled me in close for an embrace and choked up as whispered "I can die now." into my right ear.
Articulating the various ways that I've been an insufferable prick to the knuckle-dragging hillbillies in my hometown is damn near impossible, causing grown men to soil themselves after being caught trying to steal my Obama yard sign - even grabbing the faces of local Mein Kampf readers so they can mouth the words "President Obama" along with me has made my life worth living again. There's no way a silly online rant could accurately describe the pain in my heart I will always feel, wishing that my father was here to see who became our 44th President. Despite the fact that cancer ravaged his body at the very end, the only times that I ever witnessed my old man cry were the two times that he retold the story of his shipmates celebrating when Martin Luther King was assassinated - I always say that that killed him years before the cancer did. I'm sure that if he had lived long enough to see Barack Obama become President, that would have made the most painful memories of his life an afterthought. There's no way I could have sat down and blogged about that. Shit, I guess I just did.