Skip to main content

I Voted for Our First Black President

Image
By






It was absolutely amazing this morning.

I woke up at 5am, sleep would not hold me to my king-sized, solid wood bed this magical morning.
Darkness was still over us like a warm blanket, warming, and comforting. I dressed and made my way downstairs for some yogurt and a chocolate, soy latte. My husband stirred about 20 minutes later and prepared to go make history. We drove together the short three blocks to our polling place in Kirkwood, Missouri. We thought we would be one of the early ones. We were wrong!

We found our place in an already long line at 5:45am. In less than 10 minutes, the line was stretched down to the end of the block and there were over 100 people waiting. The earliest people in line arrived at 5:15am. I was so happy!

The most amazing thing to me was to see a daughter pushing her elderly mother, age 79, in a wheelchair. I gave my husband my coffee and went to help her across the street. It was my honor to assist one of our elders who lived through so many of America's dark days. She was coming to cast her ballot.

America was at my polling place on Taylor Avenue in Kirkwood, a little suburb in St. Louis County. I saw young people, I saw young black men patiently waiting, contemplating the history they were about to make. I saw couples, I saw fathers taking their sons to vote for the first time. The entire neighborhood was there, definitely 7 of the houses on my street were already there, I know 5 are Obama supporters. I was witnessing what he talked about in this long journey of a campaign.

I asked for a paper ballot and am thankful for the League of Women Voters and the Missouri Bar Association for their information on the ballots and the judges, respectively. The booklet from the LWV was the most helpful with the many amendments and propositions. I was able to use my time in line to review the other issues and be prepared to darken my oval.

The energy in the line was amazing and as the hour wore on, the determination to vote was evident. When I finally made it inside, my excitement jumped up. It was my time, my turn to make my vote for Senator Barack Obama and for the rest of the Democratic nominees in my state. I cast my ballot for my late father, for my great cloud of witnesses, for the many, many lives lost in this country to make this moment possible.

I voted and I am an American and I made history this morning. It was well worth the two hours.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Thoughtful dialogue is appreciated.

Popular posts from this blog

Hannah's Song

By
We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...
1 comment
Read more

Brothers, Can we Talk?

By
 I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma.  He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ashes to Ashes

By
 This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes.  It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...
Post a Comment
Read more