The last time, I watched from the auditorium at the high school where I worked.
Actually, I paced back and forth between the crowded auditorium and the security desk at the front where their miniature television manifested much better reception than the big screen. It was cool to witness the enthusiasm of teens looking on (once they finally found the channel and fixed the picture) as the first African-American was sworn into presidency. I was excited...and had mixed emotions. I was proud to see someone who looked like us get this opportunity, but nervous about whether or not this would be more symbolic than anything; essentially I feared that some of the hardships that my kids and I pondered in my office during countless counseling sessions wouldn't really change simply because the person in "power" happened to finally mirror our complexion.
After four years, there's been some gains and some pushback. Lots of criticism and room for improvement. But, for me, having President Obama have the option to go at it again was FAR better than the alternative. And this time, when he took the oath, the excited and hopeful part of me was determined to be there.
So, we planned. Lawrence came down. We made a BIG weekend of it. Hung out with friends and plotted a trek to the Mall. Having heard the horror stories of ticket holders the first go-round (sorry Ghasi), we didn't try to get any special passes from local leaders' lotteries or from friends with inside connections; we just planned to find our way through to where they'd let us stand among the ticketless. No matter how many miles we ended up from the Capitol where it was all going down, we just planned to BE there.
At about 6:30 Monday morning (on Martin Luther King's National Holiday) the alarm went off and I got straight up. We zombied around trying to catch momentum. We dressed in layers of clothing. Ate a power breakfast. And then braced ourselves for the like-minded masses.
To our surprise, the Red line had very few passengers. At about 9:30 (with a swearing in start time of 2 hours later), we only met a few people whose energy seemed to match our intentions. Others looked like they were members of the few who didn't get the day off, or just had "business-as-usual" swag. (We joked that they were on their way to the secret Republican party gathering). We eavesdropped on those who seemed to be strategizing for a departure stop on the metro. We knew we didn't have tickets, so we passed up the prompts of the passengers who were flaunting their golden passes into special sections of the streets, and instead followed people who looked empty handed. Surprisingly, one of the more popular Metro stations didn't boast of the crowds we anticipated. So at Metro Center, we got off.
When we made our way outside, this giddy feeling began to arise from the surface of my belly; I was "kid in a candy store" excited. I wanted to smile at everyone, take pictures like tourists and make my way to the mall as fast as possible to stand among the others. Some of my excitement was tamed, however, by the sight of bus barricades and military hummers...it kind of looked a little "end-of-days" or Marshall-lawish. I calmed down real quick. And then Lawrence took us in the wrong direction. Yup, we walked for a few blocks, against the crowds further away from the Mall than my very excited butt hoped. Thanks to our first encounter with a red hatted volunteer, we were shortly corrected.
But, that was just the start of a series of wrong turns and contradicting messages we'd get for the next almost two hours. We started to feel the burn of frustration and got to the brink of "let's just go home"...but we persevered. And just before the screens lit up on the Mall with signs of the official entrance of the First family onto the stage, we were in place with the rest of the near millions who'd come for the same purpose.
There were free, mini-American flags and speeches, and cheering, and singing, and celebrities, and the stunning First Lady GIVING EVERYTHING with her outfit and new bangs, and her girls looking lovely in purple and lavender, and, of course, the Commander-in-Chief. And we smiled away. Taking pics and ecstatic that we made a moment in national and personal history. We would be among the crowds that the history books will talk about. We would be able to share the story with our families and future family. There was pride, there was community, there was joy. And we were a part of it.
Before long, after Beyonce's final bow, we gathered with friends for a lengthy, maze-walk back to the metro. Excited faces now looked a little weary. Jumping legs now grew tired and were forced to find the energy to move on in order to make it home. There were more barricades and arduous walks in wrong directions, but we made it.
After satiating our rowdy bellies and crawling into the warmth of home, we watched the parade that we'd opted out of until our eyes gave in to a mid-afternoon nap.
What a tremendous experience.
All I can say is I'm so glad we made it.
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