Yesterday morning, during a briefly sunny interlude between storms at my favorite cafe, I found myself eavesdropping on a conversation at the table next to mine.
“I like Obama,” a 20-something prospective law student proclaimed between bites of Santa Fe scramble, “but I’m concerned.”
Her boyfriend, who had been absentmindedly watching a bird eat seeds off a saucer on my table, groaned and started chanting “Obama, Obama, Obama…”
A girl sitting next to him playfully hit his shoulder. “Let her talk,” she chided.
“Well, it’s just that I went to his site…” said the aspiring law student. She seemed a little unsure of herself.
“Short on substance?” one of the guys at the table suggested while tapping away at an Apple device with his index finger.
“Yeah, kind of.”
‘Have you read Hillary’s site?” challenged another friend.
“No, but now I guess I have to.”
“I like Hillary,” another of the girls shrugged.
“Obama, Obama, Obama…” The boyfriend started in again on his chant, this time joined by others,until everyone started laughing and then the subject changed.
I envy them their dilemma so early in their adult lives. Who to vote for? The woman? Or the black man?
This morning I read Caroline Kennedy’s editorial in the New York Times.
“I have never had a president who inspired me the way people tell me that my father inspired them.” she concludes. “But for the first time, I believe I have found the man who could be that president — not just for me, but for a new generation of Americans.”
When Caroline Kennedy’s father was assassinated I was in kindergarten. I remember being in a crowd of bewildered children released early from school but somehow knowing it wasn’t OK to be happy about it. I watched Jack Ruby shoot Oswald on TV while I sat folding washcloths and my mother ironed my father’s shirts.
Five years later when Caroline Kennedy’s uncle Bobby ran for president, I was his biggest fan. My parents, who were not similarly enthused, started to include me in their political arguments, which could be fierce but always ended with joking and laughter. When he was murdered just a few months after the murder of Martin Luther King, I sensed evil and I closed my heart around that fear.
I agree with Caroline on at least one point: I have never had a president who inspired me.
In fact, for most of my life I have been dismayed by my government‘s behavior, both at home and abroad.
During the Clinton administration I felt more comfortable, but to be honest it always seemed to be one divisive battle after another, and for the most part, I tuned out.
Sure; the media has changed, the times have changed, the world has changed. Also, I’m not a kid anymore. But I wonder how much my resistance to Obama has to do with what I consider to be his unsuitability for the job.
I listened to Obama speak after his victory in South Carolina. What a racket –what a joyful noise – rose from that crowd. I felt a twinge of sadness mingle with a kind of fear.
My long constricted heart, so unwilling to discharge its loss.
Vox Pop Sudari 