I’ve been trying to put into words what the election meant to me.

It’s about images. Doing the Open Thread during the course of this election season, I would search for the image to put into the post. For everyone that I chose, there were dozens that I didn’t. But, those images never left me. Images, from across this country of the America that I want to live in. The America where diversity, and cultures are accepted and celebrated.

I have images from Tuesday night.

The image of Grant Park. People of every ethnicity, color, creed, age, sexual orientation, were there together. They were America.

The image of the young Sista at Spelman – collapsed to the floor on her knees, weeping. They went back to her several times, but she never let us see her face. Interrupt her personal celebration.

The image of the young Black boy, no older than 8 or 9, who knew what Obama’s election meant, in terms of the history of America, even though he couldn’t fully grasp it. Though he stood up when the teacher asked him to explain about Obama’s election, he was overcome and sat down.

The image of Donna Brazile being overcome with emotion as she explained how the thought of January 20, 2009, when Barack Obama comes down the steps of the U.S. Capitol to take the oath – the steps built by slaves – how they could have not ever imagined that someone of African descent would be coming down those steps to become President of the United States.

The image of the crowd in front of the White House celebrating Obama’s victory, broke out and sang The National Anthem.

The image of the man riding around on his bike, with an American flag attached to him like a cape.

All of these ‘ Un-Americans’ in the ‘ Anti-America’ parts of this country.

After the nightmare of the last eight years wondering where the hell was the country I believed in, I found it again. In worse shape, battered, tattered, torn, but it’s still there. I honestly didn’t know if it was there. They had done such a number on me, I was beginning to wonder if it had ever been there.

After 40 years of race being used as a political tool, it was broken. The enormity of that is what has stunned me.

I said at the beginning of this that I wanted the answer to this question:

Would White people ACTUALLY vote for a Black man for President?

I said I didn’t know the answer to the question, but I just wanted to know the answer. That this country was facing a moment of truth about itself. It was fast approaching the instance where the mythology of America was going to meet reality, and it was going to have to decide.

And, it did.

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