bakobama

Somewhere along the way, Pink learned to say "bakobama" by the time our new president was elected in November. We had many political discussions in our house and we do follow political events; however, there was no one name mentioned at home more than any other. And yet that is the only name she picked up on. True, at first she said his name every time she saw a man in a suit on the news. But she still knew the name.

I don't pretend to host a blog worthy of intelligent political discussion. I don't even like to get too deep into debate and my positions, while sincere, are no where near dogmatic enough to make for an interesting read. But that doesn't mean that the significance of last week is lost on me.

I spend my days with students who are fighting to make it to graduation. They are from foster homes, from other countries, and from poor neighborhoods, borrowing our "rich" school to earn themselves a chance. They are here because the counselors at this rich school won't tell them things like, "Don't get pregnant, don't get shot, and maybe you'll graduate." For so many young people, words like that are all they'll ever hear.

But a man came on our TV in our classroom last week, a man who looked like some of them and nothing like others. A man who told them to work hard and to keep on fighting. This man, like none before him, told them what mere words could never express: you will find your dreams, so you'd better aim high.

Maybe Pink's on to something. This man, regardless of political affiliation, will be the first president of whom she's aware. She will no doubt have little understanding of his policies even if he serves until she's ten. But doesn't that detract from the significance of today: she will know only a world in which the US elected a black man for president, and she will be less phased than her mother the next time it happens, for she will not have seen what I have seen. She will know better than what we have known thus far.

"Bakobama, Mr. President, 'Let's roll.'"