Sasha To The Rescue!

Leave it to the delightfully irrepressible Sasha Obama to grab me by the scruff of the neck and force me to get over myself, already! I came across this picture today, and it provided a healthy dose of much-needed perspective on my "existential speed bump." First, I could have been born in 1861 instead of 1961, in which case I'd have been born a slave, just like my Great Great Grandmother Sally was. I never knew her, and don't know even know when or where she died, but I'm sure it was in exceedingly humble circumstances, and with no expectation of ever living to see a sight like this:

Or, I could have been born in in 2001, which would make me 8, like Sasha is now. I often wonder how young black Americans are processing this juncture in history. I'm sure that on one level, they understand the historic depth of this moment, but they simply aren't equipped to grasp the astonishing journey we have traveled. They can read about Slavery and the Civil Rights movement and understand it intellectually, but they can't feel it.

I was born in 1961, and I can. And even though I was only about 7 during 1968, when Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated, and when American cities were burning, and when Nixon ws elected and the Vietnam War was claiming thousands of young Americans, and the last vestiges of segregation and racial terror were still playing out, I think I understood something profound was happening. I didn't know it would lead to an image like this, but I knew it meant something had to change.

This picture says it all. So even though every now and then I'm gonna give in to bouts of mid-life panic, underneath I'm gonna feel very lucky that I'm the exact age I am. That I lived long enough to be a little black girl who didn't know where her next meal was coming from who grew up to be a strong black woman witnessing a little black girl hiding from her Daddy on the floor of the Oval office.

Perspective is a wonderful thing. Thanks again, Sasha!