What is America to me?
A name, a map, or a flag I see?
A certain word - democracy?
What is America to me?
Yesterday was an amazing day; today will be so powerful, why, I don't know how I'll be able to stand it without weeping all day and all night.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, Senator Hillary Clinton D-NY, made me respect her again; her speeches before the Emily's List group and the New York delegation began to dissolve my animosity toward her, and I thought her speech on Tuesday night was the best she's ever made. But when she made the acclamation on the convention floor yesterday, her words brought me to tears.
It was as moving a moment as when, first Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg then Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, appeared on stage on Monday. As moving as Gov. Schweitzer and Rep. Kucinich's speeches on Tuesday night.
You see, I was born late in 1954, six months after Brown v. Board of Education when, on May 17, 1954, the Supreme Court ruled school segregation unconstitutional - just one day after my mother's 20th birthday. I was born on a Congressional election day on Tuesday, November 2, when the Democrats won a majority in the mid-term elections and controlled Congress. I was born in the heart of dixie, in the cradle of the civil rights movement, in the bosom of Jim Crow - Birmingham, Alabama.
I am 10-12 days older than Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice; we were both most likely born in the then-segregated Jefferson County/Hillman Hospital, now the University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital. My official birth certificate states that my mother and father - who was away fighting in the Korean Conflict at the time of my birth - were "colored."
I was a neonate of the mid-50s, and a child of the 60s, born near the end of the first official year of the civil rights timeline. 1965's Black Sunday aka the Selma to Montgomery March and the '67 riots in Newark and Detroit are indelibly imprinted on my memory. To this day, I can recall the assassinations of JFK, Malcolm X, MLK Jr., and RFK - I know where I was and what I was doing at the occurrence of each murder. I can vividly remember the individual community celebrations when the Voting Rights Act was signed into law by President Lyndon Baines Johnson, perhaps the most underrated, under-celebrated president in American history.
I have personal stories of Jim Crow, discrimination, segregation and desegregation in Alabama and in the South. I vividly recall the colored and white fountains, swimming pools, and department store entrances, the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church and, at 5 years old, being snatched up and pulled to a rear seat of the bus by my maternal great grandmother as I attempted to sit next to a white woman on public transit. I was the first to attend college in my immediate family and, after returning to Birmingham in the 90s, I briefly worked for the public relations firm that handled the premiere of Spike Lee's "Four Little Girls".
I could go on about my unpleasant memories of last century, whether it's segregated schools or freedom of choice or busing or German shepherds or fire hoses or Bull Connor or Dr. King in the Birmingham jail.
Still, from a small child, I was taught all 66 books of the Bible - and loyalty and patriotism to both my fellow American citizens and my America, despite the degradations suffered by my people for hundreds of years. Thoughout high school, I was chosen to lead each of my homeroom classes in the Pledge of Allegiance.
In my over half-century existence, it never occurred to me - I never even considered - that we would have a viable black US presidential candidate in my lifetime. Even as a writer with an active imagination, I could never fathom nor ever fantasize about this, perhaps because the wounds of racism still remain unhealed in my life and in my country.
Yet, I have to say, I've never loved my country as much as I do now, no matter what happens in November.
What is America to me?
A name, a map, or a flag I see?
A certain word - democracy?
What is America to me?
The house I live in,
A plot of earth, a street,
The grocer and the butcher,
And the people that I meet.
The children in the playground,
The faces that I see.
All races and religions,
That's America to me!
The place I work in,
The worker by my side,
The little town, the city,
Where my people lived and died.
The howdy and the handshake,
The air a'feeling free,
And the right to speak your mind out -
That's America to me!
The things I see about me,
The big things and the small.
The little corner newsstand,
Or the house a mile tall.
The wedding and the churchyard,
The laughter and the tears,
And the dream that's been a'growing,
For about two hundred years.
The place I live in,
The street, the house, the room.
The pavement of the city,
Or a garden all in bloom.
The church, the school, the clubhouse -
The millions lights I see!
But especially the people - yes, especially the people
That's America to me!
NOTE: Yesterday, I posted a very similar diary titled "This Is America To Me," but I immediately crashed afterwards, happily fatigued from an unusual amount of emotionalism since (a) I never, ever cry and, (b) crying makes one sleepy. Thanks to birdbrain64, Wayward Wind, billmon, DaveInBremerton, BerkeyBee, and dlh77489 for posting such positive comments. I don't usually post diaries because, unlike many, I'm never fortunate enough to get on the rec list, despite my best work. :) Thank you for your supportive comments and, this time, I'm including a tip jar, just in case. . . . Much gratitude to my best and favorite instructor - my elementary school English teacher, the late Mrs. Helen Rae Norman, who taught us the lyrics to 'The House I Live In' in 6th grade, thus introducing us to Frank Sinatra's beautiful lyricism.
To quote Governor Schweitzer of Montana, "That's it, baby! Let's go win the election!"