Good Times

Good times, for a change.

This morning, as I drove my daughter to school in the heavy, soupy fog of autumnal Orleans, I could not help but think that this dawn differed. This morning mattered in a manner morning's hadn't in so many, many years.

Last night, we elected a transcendent figure. He may even be transplendent. Obama is more than black, but it's so important that he is. He instantly changed the face of America in a way that no amount of pop culture diplomacy could have. Sorry, Kanye.

Now, I have never been taken by Rev. Jesse Jackson, but I was moved by the imagery of his Grant Park tears more than any other of the many, many wonderful scenes from last night. As flotsam on the current of history, Rev. Jackson has often been between the devil and the deep blue sea. He was on the balcony, and on the ballot, and I was just taken by the emotion that he showed.

So, we have an historic opportunity here and it's down to us not to squander it. In all those tens of millions of ballots, we re-ignited the torch that we have held aloft to the world for these centuries. We have, on this morning and in those votes, become again the hope to the forlorn and the fantastic. For whatever reason, though, the Sudanese government still hates us.

None of this is said to denigrate Sen. McCain. His concession speech was marvelous. The fact that his supporters booed his grace and decency struck me as the perfect snap-shot of his campaign, one that was forced to embrace anger and negativity in order to rally the mean Republican to his cause. Compare and contrast the scenes of that Arizona resort to those from that park on the shores of the great waters.

I cannot wait for January.

Photo credit: AP Photo/David Guttenfelder