bama bama mobama

bama bama mobama

 

banana fana O bama

 

fee fi fo bama

 

OOOOOBAAAAMA.

 

OK, so the Democratic Underground got there before me. But between the inescapable coverage in the Globe of all things Obama (remind me to point out later the almost hysterically obvious visual campaigning for the Big O...all those ridiculously silly shots of Hillary we've seen over the past months were chosen for a reason) and the strains of Sha Na Na's contribution to Blue Moo, (“Banana nana nana nana nana na na na.” very catchy...and no, I'm am NOT making any sort of stupid racial editorial comment*) it was inevitable. I had to write it out to escape it's insidious hold on my brain. Like the home remedy of singing a song that has been going through your head over and over and over to stop it.

 

I voted for Hillary in the primary. I had many reasons. First and foremost is that she is everything Obama is not. She is not glamorous, or sexy (to me, at any rate), she isn't a fabulously talented orator. But damn, is the woman a fighter.

 

At that point, I was leery (and still am, quite frankly) of the groupie mentality I saw in some of Obama's supporters. I know my low tolerance for hard selling, so I kept my exposure to propaganda to a minimum. I had no real bones to pick with either candidate. Either one would be a vast improvement over who is “in charge” now. Through the last months, we've seen the gloves come off, the mud fly, and they both have managed to pick themselves up out of the dirt. Filthy, but standing. I'm glad Hillary went after Obama the way she did. Beyond seeing her at her most unreasonably aggressive self, we were able to at least glean how Obama might deal with the full-fledged Republican attacks which may be in his future. And let's face it, the Republicans want Hillary to go up against McCain. They know they could slaughter her before she even got to the house.

 

Because Hillary made mistakes. She made experience a big part of her platform. Then she proceeded to do what many of us do on our resumes. Embellish the hell out of it. Some might say fabricate the hell out of it. Whatever. It all part of the game. Every damn politician out there is doing it. But if she goes up against McCain, a big part of her campaigning will become useless. And she's got Bill baggage. The one thing she really has, a workable healthcare plan, will not be enough to beat the brutality of the Republican machine once it breaks out it's battering ram. The mud slinging will become shit hurling. I will stop reading the paper.

 

So what, you may be wondering, inspired this 30 something white woman to write about this demonic circus?

 

I watched Obama speak. Specifically, his March 18^th address in Philadelphia. And I saw in his candor about his response to the incendiary words of his “former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright” my own thoughts, my own experiences. It brought back my days of participating in training exercises at Women in Transition that enlightened all of us young counselors as to exactly what privileges are, and how we benefited or suffered from them. I too, have relatives whose racial prejudices make my teeth grind. I have ancestors who hid their racial identities because it was dangerous not to do so. Once upon a time, it was dangerous to be Penobscot. It was dangerous to be Irish. And look where we are now. We have a long way to go, but now I can proudly state my ancestry in a way that was impossible for my great grandparents to do.

 

Obama is a magnificent orator, he has stage presence, gravity, and yes, he looks almost presidential. Almost, because he is missing a key facial expression. I don't believe, (and you can correct me on this, if you please, if I missed it) the mashed lips that seem to be part and parcel of almost every candidate today. The look that says they have lost control, that they are on the defensive, that they are hiding baggage. He didn't have it.

 

So I say almost presidential. He has created an image of himself that is hard to resist. Upright, realistically hopeful, self actualized. When was the last time I listened to someone and thought...here is someone who could be a hero? Or even more...someone to look up to, as well as a good man. A real man. Not an ol' boy, like those that populate the White House. So what if he doesn't pick up his socks? Neither does my husband. So what if he doesn't have experience. Neither did Lincoln, and where would we be without him?

 

I wish Barack well. I hope for him. I want to believe in him. This is beginning to sound like a religious conversion, so I think I'll wrap this up.

 

I'd like to leave you all today with the 3 year old Impling's nature prose, observed and composed during a leisurely stroll through the streets of Brookline, and here by her specific request:

 

“They are Spring bare branches!”

*This would be particularly ridiculous of me since I think I might be on the brink of a big O conversion.

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