Audacity of Hope arrives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue...At Last.

It has been a mere 24 hours since the historic night of November 4th, 2008. I can scarcely believe what I witnessed in Grant Park, Chicago, Illinois in the waning hours of the election of our 44th President of the United States.

Finally, the United States of America has reengaged the rest of the world by putting in office a man who is needed at such a time as this... Barack Obama.

Words cannot describe the feeling of hope, elation and pride that came over me, welling up inside as I sat on the edge of my seat, watching the various live coverage announcements of Mr. Obama's securing the needed Electoral College delegates around 11:00 pm. Witnessing a sea of humanity in the park in Chicago, awaiting the news that the rest of the nation was anticipating, that we would be electing the first black President of the United States... this was a night of historic proportions.

But the final moment of the evening that captured what this has been all about is Barack Obama's celebration speech, in front of a crowd of not just the people in attendance there, but to the nation as a whole, both Democrats, Republicans, Independents, and people who are not involved in the politics of governing. He spoke of a new beginning... that his being selected as our new President as the beginning of change to work to make America work again for all people, to recapture the spirit of what makes our country great among other nations.

Tonight we showed the world that we are bigger than our petty disagreements... that a man from humble beginnings and ethnic diversity, the son of an Kenyan immigrant and Mid-Western white mother could be immersed in many cultures through his formative years and become the richer for it. He understands what the United States of America means to not just it's citizens, but to the world. To become again a symbol of the highest of ideal to mankind... a people that govern themselves through a representative democracy that represents all it's citizenry. The United States is far from perfect; it is a living and evolving organism, with illnesses and aches and pains that accompany such a curious and malleable entity. But the beauty of our nation is that the people who, with such foresight over 230 years ago, created our system of government... saw fit to endow our people with the choice to correct for deviation every election.

The ship has righted itself considerably these last days. Now is not the time to be complacent either. Mr. Obama, correctly stating last night, that he and the government are not the end all solution to what ails our great land, just a part of it. We, the people, are the final piece of the puzzle... our great democracy hinges on the People reigniting the fires of hope and freedom, like Thomas Paine, like Abraham Lincoln, like Susan B. Anthony, like Martin Luther King, Jr., giants among many before them and to come. And hopefully, one day to add to that list for posterity's sake... President Barack Obama.

Well done, sir. Now lead and we will follow.

For Nathan... my Son

The last four days have been the hardest of my life by far. You see, my son, Nathan Isaac Parker passed away, mere hours before he was to enter this world. He never got to know his mom and dad or his big sister Danica. He was taken from this world so he would not suffer from the diagnosis of Edward's Syndrome (Trisomy 18) that hit us early on in Cristi's pregnancy. From that moment on, we knew what we were facing, a battle to see him through the end of his journey in the womb... to hold him at least for a while with him looking up at us.

Our hearts sank when attempt after attempt to find a heartbeat went by unsuccessfully and then they crashed when the doctor performed that final, short and yet eternal ultrasound, shaking his head, telling us he was gone. We finally, the next morning, got to see him be delivered and to hold him, but he was already gone. I have never felt such loss before.

My future of playing with him, teaching him about life, riding motorcycles... all gone now.

But wait. The end is the beginning.

The hope of seeing him again hovers over us. He is at peace and is whole. Perfect now. And I will see him again and be able to tell him face to face that his Dad loves him very much.

So, in honor of Nathan Isaac Parker, who never got to experience this life but is experiencing a much fuller life now... a song for you, son.

Love,

Dad

What the heck is going on in the streets of St. Paul?

Upon listening to the latest podcast of the excellent Democracy Now daily newscast, I find that the host and award-winning journalist Amy Goodman has been arrested, caught up in the protests on the streets during the Republican National Convention. There are video clips of the arrest and also the scuffle of one of her producers of the show.

While I understand the need for crowd control at such an event, it appears, from many eyewitnesses to the events mentioned on other websites, that the police have taken things a bit too far. I have watched Amy Goodman and her colleagues for over a year now and find it hard to believe that they have been caught up in the inciting riot charges hung around their necks. Fortunately, all three of the members of her media team, including herself were released within a day of being arrested, although charges are pending still against all three.

At both the DNC events of last week, and more particularly the RNC in Minneapolis/St. Paul, the federal government, state and local authorities have displayed utter disregard for both the tenets of free speech and peaceful demonstrations. In their zeal to cater to the image of a efficiently run media spectacle at both Denver and Twin Cities venues, they have trampled over dissent of the policies of both political parties and the establishment.

I fear for our country as more and more people are both swept up and silenced in the attempt to tamp down public opposition to a failed and unpopular war, administration and government.

And what I especially am frightened of is the notion that the majority of Americans don't know that this is happening on the streets of their cities. They are just complacent and content to go about their lives while those that fight for and stand up for justice are silenced. Maybe we deserve the government and society we get if we let those with a voice to speak out on injustice and truth go unnoticed and worse yet, drowned out by the sameness of our media, the mediocrity that is corporate-owned and backed media in America today.

Amy and those like you fighting for reporting what is really going on in the US today, we applaud your efforts and want you to keep fighting the good fight.

There will not be another like him...

This is my first post here and it is a sad one for me personally.

My Grandfather, John Petrie, aged 92, has passed on.

I got the call tonight from my Mom about 7:45 EST, which for him would have been just past midnight in Montrose, Scotland.

The last time I saw him was about four years ago when I traveled for my Grandmother's funeral. I remember seeing him cry quietly when she was cremated and how he looked incomplete. At this time, he even was in poor health, not able to get around on his own, but by wheelchair and family members. I also recall the visit when I looked in on him at his room in the nursing home. He and I sat across from one another, and he smiled at me... seeing his grandson from America, maybe proud of me in some way... I do not know.

I remember the little things, like when my family made the trip back to Scotland for the holidays in 1976, he and I, along with my father, walking down the streets of Montrose, me excitedly anticipating the toy store that we were soon to pounce upon for my love of Matchbox cars (and the real ones, the heavy metal Lesney ones that you can't get anymore). He bought several for me... and while they are now long gone, some thirty-two years later... I remember them well. The Fandango, a Dodge Challenger, and the City Commuter... I remember them like they were yesterday.

Grandad was a man of few words, but when he spoke them, they were memorable... like when my grandparents visited the US for the first time in 1985. It was the fall and what I remember of one Sunday afternoon, watching the Atlanta Falcons getting creamed by the 49ers, was his comment on this American "football" and the players with this... "They look like knights in shining armour!"

No. He had it wrong. He was the Knight in shining armour.

That is how I will remember him.

I did not get to spend much of my life with him... the Atlantic prevented that. But when I did get to see him, I was touched by the sincerity he radiated and the spirit of a man who was passionately humble. He did not seek the spotlight. He did not want adoration.

But in this time, right now... he has both.

Bon voyage, Grandad...

And second star to the right, and straight on to morning.

Your Grandson,

Christopher