My friends and I drank tea, ate popcorn and cheese and crackers, watching mostly ABC News, at a screen crammed with information. We started at 7 PM. By 10 PM, Obama had around 207 Electoral votes, McCain had around 145 or so, and it looked to be a long night. My roommate and I headed home.
Waiting for us was a phone message from one of the friends we'd just left. ABC News reported that several states had gone to Obama, putting him over. I turned on the TV and almost instantly heard that McCain was conceding.
McCain looked relieved. His eyes were open and bright. He had a natural smile, unlike the forced one he'd worn during the last debate. He appeared to be a man who was quite accepting of his loss, even eager. I recalled the John McCain of years ago, a moderate. I wondered if, in order to win over the extremists of the Republican Party, McCain had given them more of his soul than he'd planned, and moved too far away from his personal sense of honor. Tonight, conceding long before he actually had to, John McCain looked as if he could at last get a good night's rest.
Palin looked as if she were made of wood. Her hands clenched together. Her jaw clenched into a Former Beauty Queen Smile. Even her buttocks were clenched. There was no relief in her eyes. She looked as if this was a decision McCain had made without any consultation with her at all. He had told her, and she had no choice. Her fantasies and dreams were shriveling in the spotlight, right there for all the world to see. When McCain held out his hand, she took it robotically. McCain barely touched her. This wasn't two comrades congratulating each other on a fight well fought. This was a man who had made a mistake disengaging himself from that mistake. McCain, I'm sure, knew he had a future, had work he could do with the new President and Congress, because he did indeed know how to work with people on both sides of the aisle, because he wasn't originally an extremist. Palin had to have left that stage wondering what the hell she was going to do.
There, on the stage in Chicago, a black family and a white family, three generations, grinned and hugged together, little black girls and little white girls clutching each others' hands with excitement. I've lived to see it. I can't believe this has happened, but, wonderfully, I must.
It's been a rough night for this hardened cynic. But, somehow, I'll adapt.
Waiting for us was a phone message from one of the friends we'd just left. ABC News reported that several states had gone to Obama, putting him over. I turned on the TV and almost instantly heard that McCain was conceding.
McCain looked relieved. His eyes were open and bright. He had a natural smile, unlike the forced one he'd worn during the last debate. He appeared to be a man who was quite accepting of his loss, even eager. I recalled the John McCain of years ago, a moderate. I wondered if, in order to win over the extremists of the Republican Party, McCain had given them more of his soul than he'd planned, and moved too far away from his personal sense of honor. Tonight, conceding long before he actually had to, John McCain looked as if he could at last get a good night's rest.
Palin looked as if she were made of wood. Her hands clenched together. Her jaw clenched into a Former Beauty Queen Smile. Even her buttocks were clenched. There was no relief in her eyes. She looked as if this was a decision McCain had made without any consultation with her at all. He had told her, and she had no choice. Her fantasies and dreams were shriveling in the spotlight, right there for all the world to see. When McCain held out his hand, she took it robotically. McCain barely touched her. This wasn't two comrades congratulating each other on a fight well fought. This was a man who had made a mistake disengaging himself from that mistake. McCain, I'm sure, knew he had a future, had work he could do with the new President and Congress, because he did indeed know how to work with people on both sides of the aisle, because he wasn't originally an extremist. Palin had to have left that stage wondering what the hell she was going to do.
There, on the stage in Chicago, a black family and a white family, three generations, grinned and hugged together, little black girls and little white girls clutching each others' hands with excitement. I've lived to see it. I can't believe this has happened, but, wonderfully, I must.
It's been a rough night for this hardened cynic. But, somehow, I'll adapt.
