Two recent encounters caused me to get up early this morning to write this. At the time I was puzzled and taken aback by the anger and resentment. At the time I didn’t know what to say to them and part of me wanted to hold them in my arms and tell them that it was going to be okay.
The first was an old friend, a black woman, like myself, who in a non-stop rant against Obama defended herself as being, "the only black person she knew who wasn’t for him."
"I don’t understand why," she said. "What’s he stand for? What’s he
done."
She didn’t like his health care plan, she didn’t like his economics, I pressed for specifics. The Clinton talking points came pouring out of her mouth, all that stuff about inexperience and youth, about disloyalty. Mostly I watched her work herself into a spitting, angry mess, defending her candidate like a barker in front of a retail store imploring people to come in.
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