A Day of Change

In the final days before the presidential inauguration, most of the media images telegraphed from Washington were full of faces animated by hope.

Understandable. You couldn't walk three feet in any direction on Capitol Hill without crossing paths with someone wearing something plastered with the name or face of Barack Obama.

There were Obama shirts, Obama hats, Obama handbags, Obama barrettes, Obama water bottles. There were Obama buttons, too, lots of them. Campaign buttons had morphed into badges of honor, testaments to early support. A growing number of people sported the new buttons — "I WAS THERE!" – sold by street vendors eager to cash in on the oh-so-American desire to prove proximity to a historical event.

Our neighborhood, a few hundred yards east of the Capitol, is not exactly a hot spot of activity, but on the day before the inauguration, the sidewalks outside our apartment swelled with an endless stream of people as diverse as the country at large. One crowd replaced another, each happier than the next, it seemed, all day long. Strangers apologized when they bumped into you. It was that kind of day.

Early in the afternoon, I popped into the corner grocery. The tiny place was packed with customers clearly unfamiliar with the aisles. I picked up some bagels and then stood in line behind a tall young woman with blond dreadlocks sprouting from her Obama beret. Behind me, an elderly woman clutched to her chest four copies of The Washington Post.

"Souvenir copies," I told myself.

I waited my turn and asked the cashier whether he'd been that busy all day. "And all weekend," he said, nodding. "It's been crazy here."

He handed me my change, and I stepped aside to pull on my gloves. I heard the woman behind me say, "I have four copies of The Washington Post."

The cashier nodded, but she said it again. "Four copies. I have four copies of The Washington Post."

She hesitated.

"My husband's obituary is in here," she said, still holding on to the papers.

"His obituary is in the Post."

This was an extraordinary time for her, too, but it had nothing to do with Barack Obama. I told her I was sorry for her loss and walked out into the cold, dry air. Strangers all around me still bubbled with excitement, but I was sobered by the reminder that real life always intrudes, which we will discover soon enough after the inaugural hoopla is over.

Thirteen hours before Barack Obama became our new president, I stood on the platform where he would take the oath of office and deliver his inaugural address. It was dark and windy, and as I stared out into the vast, sparsely populated mall, I thought about the loneliness of the job Obama was about to inherit and how much we expect of him. Too much to ponder. So I turned to happier thoughts, of my 11-month-old grandson and how Obama was about to change the little guy's world forever.

My grandson's generation will never know a time when only white men were president of the United States. The election of Obama has changed the face of power. It is not possible to predict the ripples of this mighty current of change, but I am certain that the waters will run deep and long.

I also know that in time, white children, such as my grandson, will benefit as much as children of color. If we've learned anything from our recent history, it's that change comes only when we agree to discover common ground and then navigate the twists and turns together.

About an hour after I watched Obama take the oath of office, I made my way back through the crowd and thought about the night he was elected.

Right after he was declared the winner, I walked over to the portable crib where my grandson lay sleeping. He was on his stomach, his little fists curled and his bottom raised in the air.

I leaned over the edge and whispered into his ear, "Oh, Clayton, you have no idea what just happened to you."

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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