44 years ago Irving Wallace wrote a novel about the first black president. The only way he could think of to make a black man president required an almost unbelievable series of flukes, none of which involved the man actually winning the post on his own. The Man wasn't a terrible book, but tonight it becomes a relic of a former time.
It is probably a sign of my overwhelming insularity, even in NYC, that I'd never really stopped to think about race as a factor in the election.
In fact it wasn't until one of the reporters for CBS News, a black man, spoke about calling his mother when it looked like Senator Obama would win, that I truly realized how momentous this election would be. As he repeated the story to Katie Couric I realized he was fighting to maintain his composure. That he and his mother were both deeply moved by this election. Not because of party. Not because of the economy; not even because of the war in Iraq. Simply, finally, because a black man can be president. And is.
We all love our country, even when it was headed down a path most of us thought was dangerous and wrong. We changed our own course, our own path. And we did it with a man who, 44 years ago, would have been not much more than a novelty in an election.
That's pretty cool.