I Was There

I was recently blessed with the opportunity to travel to DC with friends to witness the inauguration of Barak Obama as President of the United States of America.

The chance just fell in my lap the Saturday before it was to take place thanks to my friend Ke' Shawn, and I moved Heaven and earth to make sure I would be able to attend. With everything paid for I simply needed to clear it with my parents, my professors, and my place of employment.

It was an easy enough sell for all three, understanding this as a unique moment in history. With that taken care of, we were on our way that Monday night and that morning we were there with the throngs of people in Washington, DC, all ready to see and experience this unprecedented event.

By tram we made our way to the Mall to meet the day with millions of our fellow countrymen. It was as cold as ice with barely any room to move but at one moment, a current surged through the crowd and all discomfort was forgotten.

There were times leading up to that moment -favored dignitaries being announced and taking their seats (Jimmy Carter, Colon Powell, etc.)- which hinted at feelings of warmth. But at 12noon, Barak Obama said "So help me God," and suddenly the 20th of January became the hottest day in July.

I could scarcely take it in. I stood, grinning like a child, wholly rapt in the moment. I felt like crying, but I laughed aloud instead, gladdened more than moved. Besides, that warmth was only a feeling and not a truth. We were still basically on the surface of Pluto and, my tear ducts having frozen, I could produce no tears.

We stood and listened to his speech. And I felt a great connection to those millions there who had gathered there that day. And to those across the country who were watching on TV. To those who viewed it in other countries, and even those who listened on the radio.

When I think about it I am reminded of a revelation I had one day driving back to school from my home town. I was listening to a performance of "My Man's Gone Now" from Porgy and Bess on NPR. It was a live performance and the woman's voice reminded me of a soprano I had heard in a performance at the War Memorial Auditorium a year before with my friend Jameel.

When the performance was over, the applause began and ended and the radio personality announced that the song was performed by a woman who won an award from UNC-G's School of Music. I sat for a moment and remembered that the woman who sang at War Memorial won a similar award. In fact, it was the same award. It was the same woman. The same performance. It had been recorded and rebroadcast on the radio.

When I realized this, I thought back to the applause and knew that I was apart of that sound. Some of those claps and cheers were mine. I was there. It is such an interesting, complicated feeling. You know you are you, an individual. But in an instance such as that, you are lost, among a sea of people, of sound.

But like the great and terrible moments in our recent history, since the advent television and radio, you are-in a way- preserved along with that moment. From those poor people who's screams are audible in the background as the newscaster describes the tragedy of the Hindenburg to the grateful millions who's cheers filled the Mall on Washington that day- we are the ones who can say "I was there." Whether like a burden or a badge, we carry it.

I am one of the grateful millions. One who can utter that phrase for all the years of my life. One who can say "When History called the role, I was there to answer back 'Present'."