Dear Barack Obama,
I voted for you today.
I was crying like crazy as I stood within the small clamshell of a voting booth in East Tennessee and pushed a button to elect you. Afterwards, I walked out with tears streaming down my face, but I was smiling, too. The smile was for me, getting to do this historic thing in my lifetime and looking forward to a better future. The tears were for my mother, who would have loved this day, who spent her life fighting for justice and hope and equality
She should have been here to see this.
Mr. Obama, you would have liked my mom.
She was a small woman, five feet three in heels, and fierce in her passions. She was born in Philadelphia but raised in Savannah, Georgia by parents who thought an education would be wasted on her, since she was only a woman. Maybe that's why she felt such a kinship with people who were devalued and marginalized.
I remember an afternoon in the early 1960's. I was eight years old and sitting on the porch of a lodge at a Methodist camp, listening to my mother face down a pack of angry bigots. They ganged up on her, calling her naive and stupid for saying the church should welcome black members, but she wouldn't budge. She stayed calm, quietly insisting that equal rights for all, no exceptions, was the right, moral and Christian thing. There were loud voices, big men standing over her as she sat. I remember being scared for her, but also feeling a sense of pride. My stubborn little mother would not be moved, no matter how many voices were raised against her. She refused to be intimidated.
My mom believed it was her responsibility to stand up to any prejudice that was aired in her presence. I can't tell you how many times I saw her nicely, but firmly explain to dumbfounded men that sexist and racists and homophobic jokes were not acceptable. She somehow charmed bullies and rednecks and drunken Masons and had them all apologizing. She stood up to her neighbors in our small town, her church and her own family, challenging small-mindedness and prejudice wherever she found it. She didn't back down and she didn't run away. And people respected her for it.
Like you, my mother believed in the human capacity for growth. She wouldn't compromise her beliefs, but she wouldn't give up on people either. She insisted that we were all capable of being better people than we knew, a sentiment with which I think you'd agree.
She was,simply, my hero.
I don't want to give you the impression that she was a saint. She had a temper and struggled with severe depression and self-doubt. But she had the saving grace of humor and a playful spirit. Whenever she made bread, she'd indulge her children in a raucous game of "doughball" that always ended up with globs of raw dough being lodged in the heating vents. When the weather turned cold, my father would wonder aloud why the entire house smelled like yeast.
My mother died of cancer in 1993, at the age of 64. Way too early. As I voted today, I was overwhelmed by a longing for her - if she was alive we would have gone to the polls together, then had a long lunch to celebrate. We would have gotten giddy and silly and I would have convinced her to have a glass of champagne with me, to toast you, this amazing new day, the promising, challenging future we will all build together.
And I would have toasted her too. For teaching me to believe in what is true and good, for showing me how to stand up and speak up for what is right. For being a beacon of light and hope in this world.
She would have adored you, Mr. Obama. Loved your emphasis on hope and dignity and quiet courage.
In voting for you today, I voted for my mom and all she stood for.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.