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By Patricia Wilson-Smith
Ok. Seriously. I was just sitting here on my lumpy couch, minding my own business, getting my steady diet of news about the election, when I saw something that convinced me that either a) I have a brain tumor, or b) someone has punched a hole in the space time continuum. Or both.
Today, at a townhall-style rally with Wisconsin voters, Sarah Palin, the least vetted candidate for high public office in all of history, suggested yet again, that Americans need to get to know the ‘real’ Barack Obama, and that because of his nefarious associations – and this is when I think I felt my brain tumor twitch – Barack Obama would ‘diminish the prestige of the presidency’.
For real, Sarah?
It’s hard to even know where to begin. Matt Damon suggested that this all seemed like a bad Disney movie, but if you ask me, it’s starting to feel more like a bad re-make of ‘Pretty Woman’.
Let me just ask you this – just this ONE question. Would the American electorate have to endure this crap if John McCain had plucked an over-weight, bespectacled white woman out of obscurity, lined her up on stage next to him with her pregnant daughter and newly cleaned-up beau after being unable to prove that he had vetted her in any meaningful way? Would we be forced to suspend disbelief about, oh, experience, and relevence of education to the veep job if Sarah Palin herself were in fact a fat, dumpy, pimply-faced woman, who had gone to 5 different colleges before finally managing to squeak out a degree in Journalism (a profession which she would go on to flame out in before running for Mayor of a town with a population smaller than some college graduating classes)? And if this less than attractive woman was partial to shootin’ forest creatures out of a helicopter and being prayed for by witch-hunting evangelical extremists, I dunno – do you think the situation would be just an itty-bitty bit different?
You betcha, there. My friends to the right of the political spectrum can say what they will – Sarah Palin has mesmerized these otherwise mostly rational Americans who call themselves Conservatives not with her staunch right-wing beliefs or glowing readiness for high office, but literally with a wink and a smile. And she’s done so while being coddled like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, one of the most irritating moves of all time, being spirited away whenever a real journalist or even a college student gets too close to asking her a substantive question. And yet, there she was today, standing before yet another adoring crowd actually asking the question with a straight face – when are Americans going to get the answers they need about Barack Obama?
Man, Sarah – for real?
I have all the answers I need about Barack Obama, Sarah-poo. He’s been deflecting upper cuts and body blows from the media for going on two years now. No, I’m good on Barack. I am however, like many other sane Americans, still curious about a couple of things where you’re concerned, my friend.
Like the whole ‘Trooper-gate’ saga. Of course, since you’ve refused to answer questions about that, I guess I’m what you’d call ‘outta luck, there’.
Okay – well, how about that ‘bridge to friggin’ nowhere, thing?’ I’d like a couple of answers about why you claimed to oppose it when you were photographed wearing a t-shirt saying that you supported it? Any answers on that one? No, I guess not.
Well shucks, let’s see. How about that snarly Alaskan Sucessionist thing – can I at least get a dead-pan denial about that? Hmmmm, crickets on that one as well. Well gosh, darn it!
Alright, missy – what I’d really like to know is why you’re not answering the tough questions that are being posed of Senators Obama and Biden on a daily basis. Heck, even Senator McCain for that matter. It’s the very fact that you, who has been more sequestered from the media than any candidate for the vice presidency that I can personally recall, would actually stand up before crowds of your admirerers and demand answers from Senator Obama, that I’m convinced that we all now live in a world where up has become down. And the beautiful can get away with anything.
Let’s face it – I am a heterosexual woman, and even I know that Sarah Palin is gorgeous. It’s creepy. It is after all, part of our human nature to be drawn towards those things that we perceive as visually appealing, I get that. But to hear the endless drivel, the consistently non-sensical, cataclysmically sophmoric retorts come spewing from Sarah Palin day after day, in some way creates this weird dichotomy of reactions, where you can’t help but think she’s cute, even as you wretch over what you’re hearing.
The whole thing has taken on air of surrealness that I can’t WAIT to see end. Her candidacy, and any gains she has made for the Republican ticket is nothing but a reminder that even with something this important, there are those of us who will always be slaves to our baser selves.
So Sarah – I ain’t made atcha. Lucky for America, your presence is a temporary one, and after November 4th, only the wild animals of Alaska will need fear ‘ya. But until that time, I’d give anything, a lung, a right arm, anything, if you would stop with the Jedi mind tricks – you came along a little late, dear. This country has gotten to know Barack Obama VERY well, which is why he is in the position that he’s in right now, and you’re in the unenviable position of playing attack dog for a man who himself is being dogged by his unpopular policies and a series of gaffes, mis-steps, and straight up blunders that rival any in modern American politics. But hey – you really are goshed darn pretty!

By Paul James
Paul James is a blogger and IT Professional originally from London, England. He resides in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife, BWFO Founder Patricia Wilson-Smith and their three sons.




On Obama and Black Boys
October 31, 2008 in Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, Commentary, Did You Know?, Issues, Michelle Obama, Politics, Polls, The Campaign Trail | Tags: Barack Obama, Election '08, Politics, Polls | by bfwo | 2 comments
As of this writing, the current national Gallup poll has Senator Obama leading by a respectable percentage; several previously red states are either leaning or solidly in the Obama column, and Senator McCain is fighting tooth and nail to hold on to other Republican strong holds, including his own home state of Arizona. Though most of us are afraid to say so, it appears that we are in fact about to see our collective dreams come true – one that many of us thought could not happen, and definitely not in our lifetimes. We are mere days away from what could be one of the most historic and defining moments in this nation’s history, and as a black woman, it’s been hard for me to know where to begin when it comes to expressing my thoughts about what’s coming. The fact is, the photo that accompanies this article says it better than I ever could, but here goes.
There are so many black women out there who, like me, are raising young black men. Due to a recent marriage, I’m now raising three. And it is as much a sign of how much this nation has changed that in some ways, my three sons are oblivious to the importance of the coming event, as it is an indictment on our society that as women raising black men, we’ve longed for someone, anyone to ease our fears about our sons’ futures and to be the role models that our young boys have so desperately needed for so long. Not that we haven’t had strong models for them at all, but we’ve been hard pressed to find them outside the fields of sports, music, or other areas of the entertainment industry.
I was left alone to raise the only child I’ve ever given birth to when I was just four months pregnant. The pain and fear I felt at the time soon gave way to resentment, and then to a hatred so pronounced that it threatened to swallow me whole. I had tried my best to play by the rules, only becoming pregnant after six years of marriage during which I had begun to think that I was incapable of having a child.
The news of my pregnancy was at once joyous and terrifying, as it became increasingly apparent that I would be forced to raise my son alone. Back then, I could not comprehend how it was that the father of my only child could not understand how much his son needed him, how much I needed him, and the pain of the rejection of me an my son was unbearable at times. It was everything I could do after the birth of my sweet David to will myself on a daily basis to be grateful for the part-time status of his father, and the modest child support he paid faithfully each month. But it was what I had to do, for my son’s sake, and also because a guiding hand, a role-model, a mentor, my son’s father could and would never be.
What was even harder is that it wasn’t long before I realized that I had to find some way to learn to forgive my ex-husband; I eventually realized that he himself was and is a product of a shattered home, and ill-equipped to play the role of father and husband. Raised without his birth father, and ultimately without his birth mother, he had no real guiding hand, no role model of his own to speak of. His was an existence of sustenance only; as a result, he had no foundation given to him in what it meant to be a father and a husband, to raise a black boy in this society, to set and achieve goals, or anything like that. The condition of his life has been one of playing what he’s been dealt, and the result is that though he loves our son as much as he knows how to, he has nothing meaningful in the way of a winning hand to deal my son.
My story is not unique. From the young woman who may have gotten caught after a cataclysmic lapse in judgment, to those who like me, watched their husbands walk out on them after years of marriage, literally leaving them holding a blue diaper bag, many black women have had to come to terms with the idea that we have been left alone to raise little men. As a population, we have allowed ourselves to fall into a cycle of family disintegration that has become all too common place. These days, it’s the African-American kids who live in in-tact two parent homes who are the weird ones. In our communities, having a father who is in the home, productive and engaged has become a novelty. A tragic, gut-wrenching novelty.
But for the most part as black women, we’ve persevered. Doing all that we can to expose our sons to the right influences, to talk tough to them when we need to in their fathers’ absence, and to do and say whatever we can to try to mold them into the men they need to be. Sometimes without the benefit of having had a male role model to emulate ourselves, and all the while praying that OUR sons will prove the ugly statistics that we can’t escape or get out of our heads wrong.
The reality is, the problem is generational, and has its roots in slavery and the systemic destruction of the African family unit as it was when slaves were brought to this country. Many stories of the time tell of how upon arriving on these shores, men were immediately separated from their children and wives, in order to begin the process of degradation and humiliation that would ensure that their spirits would be broken, and that they would willingly comply with their masters’ wishes. It began way back then, and persists to this day because of our inability to re-discover our strong family ties, through the lingering effects of Jim Crow, the confusion of first segragation and then forced desegregation, and the plain old racism and failed attempts at evening the playing field (like welfare, and in some respects affirmative action).
So it was, that we the black mothers of America found ourselves; over the years, frightened beyond all measure that our young men would be sacrificed to the ravages of an unfair justice system, or worse to the violence of the mean streets; or engulfed in the culture of fake opulence and self-degradation that is some rap music, and some aspects of the Hip-Hop culture; or lost and forgotten in an educational system that is tilted towards their white counteparts, and none too anxious to fix itself in order to help to turn the tide of drop-outs and illiterate graduates it produces in startling higher proportions in the minority community. And most of all we were certainly convinced that though blacks in this country have made many strides, there were still some very obvious limits, when on the national stage walked Barack Obama.
Now please don’t zone out on me. I know that Senator Obama is not the second coming, or even the answer to all our problems, but what he is is a shining beacon of hope, and proof of what we’ve all known all along – that black men can be real fathers, good husbands, and strong and thoughful leaders, hard stop. That we are a nation of little budding Obama’s waiting to happen. That with the proper care and feeding, our boys are capable of achieving the unthinkable. The beauty of Senator Obama is that he not only displays these qualities as a legislator and candidate, he displays them even more as a father to his gorgeous daughters and husband to his wife.
And so just like in the photo, Senator Obama, along with every other weight he carries on his shoulders, literally is caring the hopes of the black boys who will soon be men in this country, who generation after generation, have been able to hide their brilliance and potential behind the mantle of hopelesness that said that they could only go so far, or achieve so much. And he and his family stand as the most shining example of a strong family, black, white, or purple that we’ve seen on the national forefront in a long time. It is an astounding feeling, as the final days of the campaign fade away, to look forward to the days after November 4th, when we can all breathe an endless sigh of relief and spend our days reminisicing about the fight. And it will not be lost on any of us what this historic event can and will mean to the young black boys of this country, who after that date, will be able to say with confidence and without hesitation, “one day, I will be President of the United States”.
Look at the picture again. I get great joy in the wide-eyed wonder on my sons’ faces when I tell them that once black kids and white kids couldn’t play together – not totally unlike the giggle I get out of watching them collapse into a fit of laughter when I tell them that when I was their age, we only had four channels to watch on television. One day, my sons, and the boy in this picture will be able to astound their grandchildren with wild tales of a time in our nation’s history when the idea of a black man running for President was laughable – unheard of. And hopefully, they will smile, and take great joy in their chuckles, and marvel at the innocence that comes from being the beneficiaries of the brave and remarkable accomplishments of those who came before us.