I'm about to open up, please allow me.
Tonight, we, as a country, have elected an African-American President of the United States. While this is historic, on so many levels, I embrace this night in the name of my father, Robert Lee McCormick, who died ten years ago this past August.
My father and I didn't get along. He was absentee most of my life, and the times he was around we fought bitterly. This was the way we communicated until 1993, when he was diagnosed with throat cancer. I, being in the Navy, rushed to his side. My father looked frail, a shell of the muscular man that was my greatest critic and my biggest reason to be better than him. But, at the moment i stepped off the plane, all I wanted to do was protect him. The fire was still in his eyes, but the man he was was gone.
My father loved the political process, loved everything about it. He would make coffee in the morning and watch C-span all day, just to watch our government at work. Through him, in that short month before he was to have his voice box removed, he hooked me into politics. He knew all the senators from each state, every rep in congress, could tell you the nuts and bolts in what bill and the direct effect that bill would have on the common man. He drove CDL locally through Georgia, and I accompanied him on all of his trips. We would grab the paper, me with the front page, he with the opinion page, and we would debate the issues of the day. It was the best time I ever had with my father in my life.
I still have the love of the political process that was sparked by my Dad. Before I started this post, I cried and i prayed and i talked to my mother about this historic night. Obama is our president now, and all I wish, more than anything on this earth, was that I could call my Dad and share this night. I am overjoyed, but I am sad. He would have been so very proud.
I love you, Dad.