Close enough to Cosby for me

I write this very much aware of how not everyone reading this is of the black community. To them I say 3 things; I really don’t mind being called black. Somehow being called African American feel s too much of an effort is being put into it. Also, you may not know of my “radical” views but you do know how I am strong in my convictions and shoot from the hip. And finally, race does matter; we live in a world where black history is not included in regular history but compacted issued one month of the year.
In the 1980’s when The Cosby Show aired it was not easily accepted by members of the black community because the idea of two well off people with well behaved kids didn’t reflect the lives they had ever known. Even I have to admit there were no doctors married to lawyers in my neighborhood. In fact there were very few people who were married at all. There were a lot of moms whose husbands either didn’t exist or spent a lot of time drunk. In my home my dad was a truck driver and known cheater and my mom worked long hours as a nurse to keep from being home all of the time. I’ve never known my parents to love one another and even today I don’t think they like one another. There was no overflow of love, no famous people dropping by and we never spontaneously burst into a dance routine. Hell, I can’t even dance.
It was easier to identify with televisions previous portrayals of black people and the black family. It was easy to identify with Julia because there were few of us who didn’t know a single mom trying to make ends meet. And the housing projects were filled with families just like the one on Good Times. The older I get the more I hate that show. We loved George Jefferson because through hard work he overcame and became a success. It was good to see him move his family to a de-lux apartment in the ski-hi. It felt good to see his wife go from being a maid to sitting around the house talking to the maid all day.
Now, I’m gonna tie this in to the days inauguration. I’m not going to talk politics because there could easily be someone who knows more than I do. But about a year ago, when I began paying attention to the possible outcome of the upcoming election, I noticed there was an alternative to having The Clintons return to the White House to represent the black community. With all of Bill Clinton’s flaws he was adopted by the community as being “one of us”. I honestly didn’t believe a person of color stood a chance at being the most powerful man in the country. Eventually, Barack Obama and his wife caught my eye. I knew he was a good orator but as time went on I realized he was not another Jesse Jackson trying to rhyme his way into the White House. Eventually, I began to listen to what he had to say because I felt sincerity when in his words. When I saw his wife Michelle rolling up her sleeves to support her husband I knew there was something special between these two people.
After a while, after I chose my candidate, I began watching the dynamic of this black man and his black wife. It’s sad to admit but I’ve never witnessed, not even in my own marriage, a married couple look at one another with such admiration, respect and love; they actually looked like friends. Eventually, the world was introduced to little Rudy and Vanessa…I mean Sasha and Malia. As a family they weren’t overly beautiful or even glamorous they looked like people I could possibly know. It felt good to see success in my own image. I was floored when members of the media suggested Barack and Michelle were reflecting terrorist messages when giving one another “pound”. It further solidified in me that there were members of the white world who were al so not accustomed to seeing a black man and woman love one another and show respect. I could easily take this in the direction of how black men should respect their women but I’m feeling more proud today than militant. Plus I would have to comb out my afro wig and that would too much trouble.
It was suggested to me not too long ago that I should get me “some white friends”. And I did. This gave me the opportunity to see how with all of our differences the human heart has a way of evening things out quite a bit. I’ve had the opportunity to see how there are family not of African decent suffer from broken homes and hearts the same as we do. The first time I saw the Obama family together I thought this is a family we as Americans, no matter the race, can be proud of and aspire to emulate. This made me proud because even I didn’t want to be George and Weezie.
I watched the inauguration today, with a small group of co-workers. I wondered if they felt the pride I felt. Not only because a well versed, classy and dignified black man with a white momma and a black wife had just made history but because America got the chance to get a different view of what the black family looked like. Michelle has all of her teeth (and then some), both of her kids had the same daddy and there was a husband who knew how to show love to his wife, his kids and his country. I was overcome by the children; knowing they had no clue of how they were in the midst of a huge history making moment. As a former and future wife I thought of how proud and how worried Michelle had to be for her husband; watching him take an other to be the leader of the free world. I thought about how every little girl is supposed to feel her daddy is the best thing in the whole world and theirs practically is. Even at 10 and 7 years old they have to be proud of their dad; watching so many people love their dad just as they do.
Three years ago Michelle Obama was the wife of a senator, the mother of 2 little girls and a lawyer. By picking, loving and following the right man she is literally the first lady of these United States of America. I never ever thought this could be a reality. I fell in love and married someone who got me to Maryland which is close to the White House but no cigar. And although I’m sure my next husband will be a good man I doubt he will be White House bound; at least I’m not ready to go. It astounds me that I can someday have a daughter who can possibly love, marry, follow and fall in love with a man who can be more than a dry cleaner owing 7 stores (one near you) but someday be President. Hell by the time I have kids and they grow up they themselves; be it daughter or son can be the President and I can be the first momma. It’s a great day when a parent (of which I am not) can look their kid in the eye and honestly encourage them to be anything they want to be. My parents couldn’t see past nursing for me. And I could have been a nurse…..who’s specialty was changing band-aids because that’s all I’m good for. This has been momentous to me. It’s a wonderful thing to finally see the Cosby Experience for myself and my friends can see and know how possible it is to be successful in life, love and family. Today is the day we can begin to feel we live in a nation where anything is possible.