White Grandmothers, Black Grandsons

I've thought a lot about that in this last year. I thought about it when I wasn't supporting Obama. He was my second, almost reluctant, choice. He felt too middle for me. Too conciliatory. Too willing to listen to those who have been destroying my country, our country. I came to support him slowly -- about mid primary season, because I kept watching and listening. This is a man who has kindness, and brightness, and a sense of community and unity. This is a man I am proud to hope will be our next president.

By all rights, he might have been my first choice. Not because of his white grandmother, but because of my black grandson. A little boy I totally adore. And whom I fear for. I watch how far this country *hasn't* come in race relations. I don't have to face that for myself. But I do for my grandbaby -- what will be *his* pain when it first slaps him upside the head? And in what way can I prevent that? In what way can I cradle that hurt, and possible anger? I would love to have a black president just for him. And for what it would mean for how far we have progressed, and a marker on the way to the day when it won't matter any more because it won't exist. Neither the hurt, nor the hate.


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"The world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love."
~~ William Sloane Coffin