So tonight, I watched a woman get nominated to be President of these United States. Kind of a big deal. No, it’s a big goddamned deal. Fucking hell. How many of these have I watched, have I taken for granted that a woman, with all that it means to be a woman, would never be up on that stage. Not on her own, not without some level of subordination or support. Not as Hillary Clinton showed up tonight. I am so glad that we are in a world that doesn’t take that for granted anymore, and hopefully, oh, goodness, I hope that takes a candidate on his or her merit and says fuck all about their gender.
Time is running late. I am getting through, myself. Over at my mother’s, in the silence of the downstairs living room. She and my father have to get up early for treatment tomorrow and so I have to wonder if it was necessary for me to quietly sit here most of the night. We didn’t have some lengthy conversation. She still is in good spirits – I don’t know why I feel like I will arrive and see her gray, languishing in a chair, but she was eating taco salad and gave me some
But it was remarkable to sit here with her as the speakers continued and the energy, the
Pastor Barber, shaking the whole moral core of the convention, driving people to look at who and what their choices were. I loved listening to him. I love oratory that is thrilling and we had so many enjoyable speeches. Sparking fire.
Khizr Khan, speaking of his Muslim son who sacrificed himself to save the troops he commanded. That father standing on that stage holding a copy of the Constitution. My god. The whole of his body held stiff and steady by his grief, and the image of his wife supporting him, tracking him with her eyes. It forces me to think of the hateful rhetoric I’ve heard from people in the past about the patriotism of Muslims. I’ve heard it in real, real, real life. People have said these things and I’ve let them say it all the while they preened about their xenophobia, comfortable in it. It’s monstrous.
As for me, I am just here. Waiting for a message again. It’s bullshit that I keep saying is benign, but I’m not sure that it is. I’m not sure that it’s telling me the right story, but I don’t know what story it is telling yet. I haven’t gotten to the end.
You! Ugh! That’s a whole other story that is what it is. It shouldn’t eclipse all the other good news of the day. This thing begun that needs to die, that I would hate to die, that is this stupid craving I prefer to all my other addictions. It’s the desire to pull focus, to capture an attention, to delight in driving a story to do just that, to feel power in your abilities. Now, we just wait for what’s next.