Fifty-thousand people celebrated the election of Barack Obama, dotting Grant Park with the faces of an America long forgotten by the Bush administration.
One hundred thousand stood outside the gates, a testament to the dissatisfaction that surged throughout an America electrified to change politics per usual.
I celebrated right along with them, dancing in my living room, number 150,001.
When the coverage shot to the White House, the 1000 people assembled fence-side caused me pause. Sitting on the edge of my coffee table, I took it all in, the scene taking me back to the dark days of the Vietnam war when an angry, grief-stricken public crashed the gates to have their voice heard.
See us. Hear us. Listen to us.
These people--my people--gathered Tuesday night in one statement of purpose.
Whose house? Obama's house!
As a glint of a street light shined off a blue balloon carried by one faceless person amid the throng, a single tear slid down my cheek.
Many times I had felt alone in the struggle as I would imagine many gathered by the gates had felt as well. But the proof stood before me, exuberant, joyful, heard.
Our revolution had resulted in a victory. A peaceful transition of power to the people.
We took our country back for ordinary Americans.
Rest your voice, my friends, if only for the moment. The real work lies ahead--the correction of the many wrongs endured over the past 8 years.
