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I want Barack Obama to do a few things.
There, I said it. My IQ is quite possibly lower than his, I don't have his political savvy, my personal history is far less compelling and I'm not going to be the next president of the country. And yet I have the unmitigated gall to take the man at his word, feeling free to offer my two cents.
This summer will mark the 40th anniversary of man's first arrival on our Moon. We did that. The United States. We did that. And yet, every time I drove to the Georgia State campus during my master's program, I passed the same man begging at my offramp.
June 6 this year will see the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings in Normandy. My parents were in France recently and attended a ceremony at one of the cemetaries near the American beaches. In December, we visted my last living uncle, who fought in the Bulge. I live in a country that played a vital role in liberating Europe from Nazi domination but which can't seem to summon the will to commit the resources to educate all of its children adequately.
Week after next, my country will inaugurate its first president of African-American heritage, who will take the reins of a nation still mired in legalized homophobia.
I ended up supporting Obama in the primaries, and I'm glad - no, elated, lest Will Pitt or anyone else mistake me - that he won the general. But I want him to do a few things.
I know that he won't - can't - complete every liberal dream in my head. I expect disappointments. I always have, from anyone who won. I have also always said that I would speak up, and not dreamily expect the winner to fulfill my wishes without my providing him or her the knowledge of what the fuck they are.
And so the game continues.
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