Into the Hall

My grandfather was a politician. Not a governor or member of Congress or anything like that, but it's how he made his living for most of his adult life -- he was sheriff, treasurer, probate clerk. He died before I was born, but to the end of her life my grandmother identified strongly as a political wife.

About a month ago, as I was talking to my parents about my plans for Denver, my mother said she'd always wanted her father to get to be a convention delegate, but he never had. That was in my mind last night as I walked into the hall at the Pepsi Center to find the New Hampshire delegation -- some combination of regret that he never got to be there and pride that I was, but in this new role that we're all inventing together. (Update, realizing this is a bit unclear: I'm not a delegate, but was there as a state blogger for Blue Hampshire -- so I got to be an extra part of history since this is the first time they've had this kind of blogger access to delegations.)

But I wasn't prepared for the incredible surge of awe and emotion that hit me when I stepped into the hall at the top of the stairs and looked out. It was unbelievable, looking out at the people and the signs and the lights and knowing what they, what we, were all here to do.

The history being made here in so many different ways is worth taking a few moments to appreciate in the cheesiest, most awestruck, and cliched way you can personally muster.