While the Olympics barely warranted a blip on my radar, the Democratic National Convention has decided to dominate my attention. I’ve spent a lot of time this evening listening to the speeches and becoming so overwhelmed that I cry. Speechifying makes me cry, so do standing ovations (and marching bands and that underground railroad episode of “A Different World”).
But this kind of crying has more to do with hope and optimism and less to do with emotional incontinence. I’ve often said that politics is kind of my religion. I have a hard time making that leap of faith, but every four years I put aside all the jadedness, the bitterness, the tiny niggling voice that tell me it’s all bullshit propaganda and marketing spin and I believe.
I believe that these people want to make our country a better place. I believe that they mean what they say and will walk the way they talk.
It never ceases to amaze me that every four to eight years our country has a peaceful regime change which is something so many Americans take for granted.
I know I am not alone in thinking that each election will bring change, because I can see the hope shining on the faces of the people at the DNC, and see it in the tears that fill their eyes as Michelle Obama speaks.