Childhood’s end

That Obama has emerged as an adult is really the one thing we know for certain about him, and it seems that an adult is exactly what we need.

Some notes from an election daze:

M and I did the usual commute to work this morning, heading east on Manchester toward midtown St. Louis to avoid the increasingly disassembled Highway 40 (I-64 to you). A beautiful November morning, and the news of the radio, seemingly the only news in the world, was Election Day. We passed a convoy of police motorcycles and cars, all with headlamps on, all heading west - mourners en route to the funeral service of University City Sgt. Michael King who was senselessly gunned down last Friday. We continued east along Manchester through Forest Park Southeast, a mingling of beautiful solid homes and vacant storefronts, a neighborhood struggling for development and solidification. Business redevelopment is much evident, and yet patchwork in nature - a building here, a restaurant there, surrounded by shuttered structures. The soft morning light illuminated everything, and we drove on.

The world is what we see in periphery, what we distantly hear, what we all move through as we run our commutes and errands. We’re adults; we have obligations, responsibilities, lives to live. The world keeps turning, even on Election Day. But I thought this morning about another day and another commute years ago, another drive to work and the terrible news over the radio of an airplane crash in New York City. Some plane had flown into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. M and I were surprised and vaguely saddened. She dropped me off at work; I brewed some coffee, sat at my desk, turned on the computer, and sat stunned over the following hours as the world changed. But that morning had been beautiful up to that point, and as ordinary as you could wish.

That’s how it always starts, yes? Even with periods of great change, whether for good or ill: with an ordinary day.

…

A couple of weeks ago found me grumbling to myself over the various hoops through which Missouri citizens must leap in order to vote absentee. Today, that annoyance is all but forgotten, replaced by sublime satisfaction over having registered my electoral choices ahead of schedule.

I spoke with my brother Greg a couple of days ago. Regular readers will remember that Greg is a Type 2 diabetic who lost his vision, his kidney function, and his lower right leg to the disease. He voted a few days ago, and described the experience as odd (understandably so, given the circumstances) yet fulfilling. His arrival at Registration and Elections sent staffers into a bit of a tizzy, but when he suggested that rather than inconvenience them (and himself), he could just have our mother assist him, the staff became suddenly calm and centered. Call it professional pride, maybe; they rose to the occasion.

Apparently, blind voters in South Carolina get to wear headphones for audio assistance. When the voice on the recording intoned “Barack Obama and Joseph Biden,” Greg felt a rush of civicness. He says he got to push the same buttons that sighted people use - nothing oversized - which amused him greatly.

Also amusing to him was what he described as the emotion that seems to come over onlookers “when us blind and crippled folks vote.” Inspiring, he said with a laugh.

…

There is a strange perceptive effect involved in political campaigns, more obvious in presidential politics but not limited to that sphere. During the primaries, you choose among alternatives who are all generally grouped along one end of an ideological spectrum. While your choices are naturally informed by the difference between the candidates, you may feel more free to critique even the candidate you prefer. You may be more cognizant of their shortcomings, more willing to express doubt.

This is not true of everyone, of course - some people drink deeply of the Kool-Aid than others. Still…

Later, as the process moves into the general campaign, the gulf between the nominees of the contesting parties is naturally much greater than between candidates in a given party. As a result, you are inclined - forced by circumstance, really - to more fully buy into “your” candidate and to overlook or forgive shortcomings that seemed much more glaring, much more important, earlier on.

I haven’t forgotten my reasons for having doubted a successful transition from Barack Obama the brand to Barack Obama the executive. I haven’t forgotten the feeling I had that “change,” in an Obama context, seemed to boil down to “vote for Obama” more than anything else. I haven’t forgotten the irritation I have felt with what seemed an overabundance of centrism in Obama as a senator, and an overabundance of caution as a candidate keeping Muslims, gays, and lesbians at arm’s length. That’s a lot to not forget.

It’s equally true, however, that the Democratic candidate has given me much to remember over the course of the campaign. The sense of maturation in Barack Obama is palpable; he seems to have grown into the role he has made for himself, even as his opponent, John McCain, has shrunk. There has been much said about temperament in the late days of the campaign, and I don’t think its importance can be overstated. That Obama has emerged as, politically speaking, an adult is really the one thing we know for certain about him, and in these troubled times it seems that an adult is exactly what we need.

…

Tomorrow may be the beginning of something new in our national life, but it will also be just another day. The hopefulness and optimism of many voters today will have to give rise to something else, something more substantial and decidedly unglamorous - ordinary work - even as Barack Obama, should he triumph tonight, will have to find a way to translate hope into policy.

For all of us, childhood has reached its end.

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