We went to the rally at Reunion arena to see Barack. Emmitt Smith gave a decent speech after former Dallas mayor Ron Kirk fired up the crowd before Obama took the stage.
My son continues to talk about being a part of history. I knew that it would be a new experience for him to hear the roar of thousands of voices in the stadium. He was in the midst of the ferver, the fever, the long Disney World-like lines, and the hours of waiting once inside. And then it happened. He saw his daddy dance.
I don't dance in public. He knew about my first date. I was the guy who went on his first dance and the girl laughed and left me on the dance floor. I know how funny I look when I dance. Even the guy standing next to me said, "I think your son is laughing at you dancing." Was that a nice way of telling me to sit my butt down?
We were pretty close to the stage and just a few rows from the floor. The platform with television cameras from all over the world were eye-level with our row. Al Roker walked right by us. He didn't stop to say hi, but when I danced, the camera's all seemed to turn my way. And guess what? I could care less. I was dancing for history. I was dancing for my son's future. I was dancing for the tears that tried to run out of my eyes when the National Anthem was sung. I was dancing for the demographic makeup of the crowd. I was dancing for what Barack has done.
I was dancing for me, and I didn't care what it looked like. All the way home on the train back to our house 50 miles away my son couldn't stop laughing as he repeatedly said, "Dad, I cannot believe you did that." My reply?
"Yes I did. And I wasn't the only one acting a fool."
He said, "Yeah dad, but when you danced, what kind of fool was that?"
Well, I don't really know. However, it is a great feeling not to care. Isn't it great to believe that we can be who we really are and have it not be such a big deal?
By the way, the guy next to me changed seats.