A black family moving into the White House was outside of my range of vision. I made that assumption the second I learned Senator Obama was an African-American based on what I thought I knew about the majority of voters who just happen to be Caucasians.
There were lots of discussions between friends and family about the pros and cons of having a President who was a black man. The talks always ended the same way--we would smile and say things like, "It's a moot point" and "It'll not happen in our lifetimes."
It was only after I listened to Senator Obama speak that I slowly begin to wish it were possible, but dismissed trying to help him as a waste of time and money knowing the racists and bigots in this country would never allow it to become a reality.
The day that my pick of the litter, Senator Clinton, told her Bosnia story, I realized I no longer had a candidate. I remember thinking, Now what? You like this Senator Obama, but he's black and you know that there's more racists and bigots in this country than there are fleas. And like a bolt of lightning it hit me. It wasn't what others thought that was holding me back from supporting Senator Obama, it was the sick crap that I was harboring; I was the damn racist and bigot. Today I wouldn't sell the articles I wrote and posted online in support of the President-elect. They are among my most treasured trophies.
