I love that my soon-to-be 5-year-old son still gets excited when he sees President Obama on television. This morning, while eating his oatmeal, he yelled for his parents: “Mama! Daddy! Come, come!” We ran into the open kitchen where he was seated at the breakfast bench and peering over the counter to point at the TV in the living room.
“What is it, son?” my husband asked.
“Awwwwwwwww!” he whined. “You missed Obama!”
“Trust me, he’ll be back on, and we’ll see him again,” I said.
“Please, just remote it,” he begged, meaning “rewind” the show.
“Sol, we’re running late,” I said, watching the back of his father, who was already rushing off to finish getting ready for work.
Later, I smiled at the excitement that Solomon still holds in his heart over the first African-American president of our country, a man whose skin is brown like his, whose smile is warm and infectious, whose confidence is strong yet endearing.
I couldn’t help fishing back through Facebook photo archives to find this picture of me holding my son as we watched President Obama’s historic win in 2008. If the look on Solomon’s face seems a bit stricken, it’s because… well, I had just finished, while holding him, jumping up and down, screaming, running, shouting, crying, laughing… did I turn a somersault?
Looking forward to a repeat this November.