(Wednesday, 5 November 2008)
Jared and I woke up at about 6:45 this morning. He'd fallen asleep in the car at about 6 p.m. on our way back from running errands and slept through the night, waking up only to have a couple rounds of milk. So, he was up and at 'em before the sun came up.
One of the first things I did after dragging (or, more accurately,
being dragged by a two year old) out of bed was to was hurry to turn the television to CNN to find out the election results. Any who know me are aware that news as a backdrop to my morning routine is a-typical for me.
My grandma Maggie followed a regular news watching regimen: one broadcast of the local broadcast followed by one dose of the national news. On Sundays there was 60 Minutes (which later became somewhat bearable to me because of the suave, intelligent and handsome Ed Bradley.) Grandma tuned in to the news as faithfully as she did her soaps, or "stories," and The Price Is Right. My mother has a similar inborn reverence for news and can take in an entire paper in a day, extracting and absorbing all of the key stories from it, a feat which leaves me awestruck. For my family watching news ranks high among one's civic duties and is the best way to keep informed.
I did not inherit this trait. My general aversion to news comes from its heavy emphasis on conflict, horror, negativity with little given in the way of solutions or hope. As a child, news either bored me to no end leaving me with a dull throbbing headache, frightened me or both. We live in a news-on-steroids era very different from the time when it was relegated to one hour segments scheduled at the beginning or end of the day. I find the endless repetition, the hype, the ticker tape that slides across the bottom of the screen to be too much. I'm much more of a big picture, historical context kind of gal. For me, stories must maintain optimism as well as retain the personal narrative.
Today was different, though. The endless stream of news about the Obama victory was a welcome refreshment. I had the chance to get my fill and still get breakfast cooked, lunches packed, clothes ironed, baby and self washed and groomed and stand in front of the TV for five minutes here and two minutes there as the news cycled back to the parts I missed.
In the coming weeks, I will probably be watching more news than I have ever cared to. When listening to the Obama victory speech today, I was moved to tears because he seems to mean what he says. I search Obama's poetic oratory for the truth and sincerity that has helped him win the trust of so many. He's talking loud, and as far as I can tell, saying something. Who knows what the the Great Change that Barack Obama promises will look like in the final analysis. I agree with the many who say that the most important change might not even be overtly political, but could lie most strongly in his reminding people about what is possible to acheive. Obama is waking up people's spirits in a way that reminds me of this
amazing video for the song Sun Moon Child.
The main point of this post was supposed to be my linking to an
open letter that Alice Walker wrote to Barack Obama, and so I want to make sure to conclude with that. Like Mama Alice, I often think of Obama's family-- the brilliance of Michelle and the legacy that Barack will leave to his children. I wonder about the way that his power and position will both positively and negatively affect his family. I think of the demands that will be placed upon Obama's mind, body and spirit. I pray the best for them and us all.
That said, I think I'm gonna turn off the radio and TV news broadcasts. No additional posts or e-mails about the election. At least not for today. I've had my fill, and life continues. There's work to do. Tomorrow's another day.
One memory that I don't want to forget is his fondness for music. While he seems to for the most part think he's too cool to dance, my son has been singing since he was two or three months old. Some of the photos of him during his naming ceremony back in October 2006 do, in fact, show him with his cottony hair and velvety skin and mouth frozen while holding the note of song. During his first year, he and I would be out shopping and he would be singing at the top of his lungs in such a way that other shoppers would track us down in our aisle to get a look at the child whose voice carried from one corner of the store to another (which made me sometimes call him O Puxador, like Neguinho da Beija Flor and other singers who stand on top of floats bellowing out carnaval theme songs, no need for a mic). Granted, the stores where this would happen were always small stores, but still I thought it was funny. Even more funny was that when I enrolled the child in Music Together he spent more time investigating the room than he did actually singing or playing instruments.
