My Dad Witnessed the Election of the First Black President of the United States

My dad was 88 years old when he passed away in 2009. He wasn't ill, just tired and missing my mom who preceded him several years prior. They were married 63 years. The cruelty of glaucoma took my father's vision, but his hearing and understanding were superior to most, young or advanced. In today's world where younger people are dropping like flies, I'm blessed to have been around to see my parents advance in age - together.

Daddy was buried with military honors. I never knew that the playing of Taps would have such a lasting impact on me. In the den in our home, I am honored to have my father's military memorial flag, encased in a wooden frame and glass hang on the wall along with the standard certificate of commendation honoring his service to our country. The certificate is signed by Barack Obama, President of the United States. Wow! My father lived to bear witness to this accomplishment. He served in the military during World War II at the time when black soldiers were faced with harsh inferior treatment. His generation tolerated more than I can ever imagine. He, along with countless other black men and women earned a stake in Mr. Obama's achievement.

The '60s and '70s were my time. We didn't have to tolerate racism. Here in Los Angeles, along with other big cities across the nation, we dared racism. In the '70s I graduated from high school and off to college on a road swept near clean from the blood and sweat stained broom that my dad and mom labored to the bone to hold. Like many of my black peers, I was comfortable in my skin. I didn't have to worry about the color of my skin, and I advanced in corporate America without the lose of my identity. Unfortunately, blacks in the southern United States still had to succumb to the stronghold of racial divide and continued violence. We stood on their behalf in every way that we knew how.

I knew that I would witness Mr. Obama's election during my lifetime. I knew it. I never shared my feelings with anyone, because the Spirit within me instructed me not to. I didn't know who it would be or how long it would take. I thought perhaps some young kid somewhere in this country was being groomed. Maybe a college freshman with exceptional aptitude and charisma. Or maybe this person hasn't even been born yet, but I knew I would see the election of a black president.

A lot of tears were shed when the results of the electoral vote were confirmed. Tears of joy. More tears were shed on Inauguration Day. I supported the campaign, but I shed not one tear. However, I did cheer at the rapid demise of the old ways of oppression. What I my not see in my lifetime is the day when all black people are equipped with the type of understanding that will suppress our own hatred toward one another. Understanding to lift one another up, and hold each other accountable for wrong doing and irresponsible child rearing. Then, will I shed tears of triumph because we conquered our worst enemy - us. I am teary-eyed knowing my dad saw progress.