Two nights ago I got one more reminder why we had to win and why I knew we would. I was too worked up yesterday to post then but I think the story is all the more poignant looking back and remembering what it felt like to be right on the cusp of all the joy we're feeling today.
Monday, November 3. The night before the election, my wife and I decided to drive down to Manassas, VA for the last Obama rally of the campaign. We expected heavy traffic, and we got it. The rally was supposed to start at 9, and by the time we got there it was 8:50. We quickly realized that Manassas, VA doesn't have any parking lots that fit 90,000 people, and every side street we turned down had cars up and down both sides. In no case did I see a car double parked or blocking someone's driveway. That in itself made me smile a bit.
All of a sudden we saw a spot open on a residential street--and quite close to the fairgrounds, to our surprise. I looked twice to make sure there was no fire hydrant or no parking sign, and then pulled in.
But right as I opened the door, I saw a man walking towards me from the house we'd parked in front of. He'd been sitting on his porch waiting with his family. "You can't park here," he yelled.
I asked, "Why not?"
He said, "You just can't. You can't park in front of my house."
I replied, "But it's a public street; I'm not blocking your driveway
here."
He said, with a smirk, "Well, you just try it and see what happens."
This was his choice. On the night before the election, with his candidate desperately in need of volunteers and enthusiasm, this man decided his time was best spent making threats against people exercising their freedom of assembly.
Then I made my choice. I didn't yell back. I didn't argue. I drove further away. I walked a few more steps. I was a few minutes later. I worked just a little bit harder to be a part of something huge. When we finally got inside the fairgrounds, I thought about how all 90,000 of us had taken some extra steps and waited some extra moments. And I thought about those of us who've marched proudly through unimaginable adversity and waited years, even generations, for a moment like this.
And then I thought of that lonely man, who chose abject and childish anger over constructive action. How small he seemed! How small he must have felt! I wasn't upset anymore. I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for his children, who will remember the time when their friends and their neighbors, their teachers and their doctors came together to make a difference--while Daddy stood outside and raged.
When I got home it was nearly 1:30, and we planned to wake up at 5 to get to the polls early. But I wasn't done yet. I gathered up some extra flyers left over from canvassing and walked a few more steps through my apartment building, leaving them outside each door, but facing inwards this time, so when my neighbors awoke and left their homes they'd have one last reminder to do the right thing.
Now we know whose choice mattered more.