History

It was an amazing evening this past Tuesday. I started the day by heading back to my old hood to scoop up Jus and take our historic trip to the polls. Our personal history as father and son bumped into us on every street corner as we walked through the only hood he’s really known in his nine years. We moved to the Bronx this past summer and I was careful not to do any change of address with my voter registration. My healthy-black man-paranoia-spidey senses told me to watch out for “the man’s” tricknology. So up in the morning, to get that 5 train to the J to Essex back to the Lower East Side to vote.

I was a little concerned my name might not be in the book like during the Democratic Primary. But that wasn’t any conspiracy theory against my first Black President and me. That was because I’m registered as a socialist (The Working Families Party to be more exact), which I need to change but that’s something other to discuss. Jus and I stepped into the voter’s booth after a rather short wait in line. Which is not a comment on the hood because I saw mad regular hood cats on the block community organizing.

“Yo my nigga! I better not see you on the block till your ass voted muthafucka. True story, our vote counts my nigga, we could have our first Black President. Are you even registered? I bet your ass didn’t even get that shit done”

“Nah yo, I registered. I’m just gonna get this dutchie from Sharif’s spot so I can have the ‘I voted’ L when I get back upstairs.”

“Aight my nigga, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout! Niggaz standing up and being accounted for and shit.”

“Whatever Farak Ofama.”

When we got in there, I felt a little overwhelmed. If memory serves me correctly, I’ve voted in every major election since I registered at eighteen. And it’s always been about the lesser of two evils except for the couple of times I got to vote for David Dinkins. But on Tuesday, I was about to do something that I think most of us thought would be close to impossible in our lifetime.

When I was a kid one time this lady asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I said “a football player like OJ Simpson he’s my favorite player. And President, and maybe a drummer.” Looking at me with a smile, she said “There has never been a black President before maybe you can be the first”.

Just an aside, yes OJ Simpson was my favorite football player as a kid. Had an action figure and everything, he came with weights and shit. No! He didn’t come with a knife and glove! I was a kid and who knew.

In a rush, the first thing I did was go for the little turn down pegs but Justin stopped me in mid motion. “Dad! You have to pull the red lever first, can I pull it. Then you can do those things up there.”

“Shit Jus, I’m glad you’re here I might of fucked … um sorry, messed that all up. Barack needs my vote, I better be on point.” And just like that, we sipped history much like our hero’s before us when they we able to vote for that very first time. “You know dad, Barack is like George Washington. Not the first President but the first Black President.” It was awesome to be sharing a historical moment with my kid that we were both aware of.

Politics never really materialized for me but Barack did. And not only for me but for thousands of kids like me and like him. The American Dream. For the first time in my life I felt like the American Dream included me. It was strange to feel my cynicism towards this country melt as I sat on my couch mesmerized listening to his speech. I felt like … I can’t believe I was thinking it, I felt like an American. Like those flags placed behind him as he spoke were waving for my family and me too. Its funny how a moment in time can begin to shape every moment that comes after it.

These are indeed exciting times.

M