The news this past weekend shocked few, puzzled some and left many with “I knew it would happen” smiles.
In the bitter cold, Barack Obama announced his presidential candidacy on the steps of the Old State Capitol in Springfield, Ill. (If you wanted an article concerning Anna Nicole Smith’s death, go look at the check-out aisle at Brookshire’s.)
Truth be told, I’m already a fan. I had heard about Obama before he addressed the 2004 Democratic National Convention where he was able to make the highlight reel solo. That speech gave me awe-inspired goose bumps. (Mr. Obama, can I call you Barack?)
And talk about product placement! The guy is out there on a weekend when the most people could attend just after Lincoln’s birthday giving a speech in THE perfect location, historically speaking. Man, this guy’s good!
Now, before you think I’m going to wail on Obama, let me say I honestly feel good about him. (Seriously, can I call you Barack? I feel like I know you, man!)
Unlike Joe “I don’t know how to talk in public” Biden, I don’t want my audience to misunderstand me: I believe Obama is the best candidate at this point and I am considering volunteering for his campaign. (Just don’t hold me to it.)
I believe I’m like all voters and kids. Voters want to believe a candidate is honest, intelligent and not full of it; kids want to believe in Santa Claus – or at least that mommy and daddy aren’t going to get divorced. (Kids, it’s not about you. Mommy and daddy are just growing apart.)
Younger generations hear stories about their parents helping with a campaign for Jack or Bobby or George McGovern working diligently for someone who they thought was a firebrand and a true champion of the people. Barack could be ours. (Hey, I really appreciate you letting me use your first name. What’s that? Don’t do it again? Yes, sir.)
Now I freely admit I was behind Howard Dean the last time this little square dance took place. His losing was less about issues like health care reform (it would’ve worked!) and more about his looking sweaty when he screamed, “Hoo Ah!” (Al Pacino did it much better in “Scent of a Woman” anyway.)
All political correctness aside, he’s black. But he’s the kind of black guy you envision when you watch “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?” – with your black friends, of course. He’s graceful, proper and safe because he’s already married to a black woman. (We can’t push Grandma too far into the 21st century, remember?)
Obama grew up in Kansas with surrogate parents, his grandparents, — just like Superman. He speaks easily and articulately, engrossing his audience with a rhythm and cadence similar to MLK. He has visited Africa like Shaft before him. Bono’s name means “good”; Barack means “blessed.” And as Oprah lives in Chicago, so does his.
He shares many of the traits of some of our greatest role models and modestly does not compare himself in order to elevate his own stature – like Ghandi. (Man, this guy’s good!)
While I come across as a cynic, I do so only as a defense mechanism. (Ask my wife.) Like the millions of voters across the country, I do not want to get my hopes up. I do not want to find out that Santa Claus is not real and that the next president will be another shell of a human being with an agenda that is counter to the common good.
My brain and my heart are struggling. Part of me is waiting, expecting the shining armor to crack and break away revealing a person more human than hero. (Yes, he did drugs when he was young and people say he still smokes. I can live with it.)
I want to believe – and I will believe.
I want to hope – and I will hope.
I will have the audacity Barack Obama speaks of.
Contact Troy Brakefield at theeasttexan@gmail.com