And Here It Is, Ready Or Not ...

This inauguration day has turned my thoughts to back in the day, when integration was still a fairly touchy thing. I remember being in Dayton, Ohio when the local Sambo Diner was forced to take down their sign. It was obnoxious, but one of those things that having seen it a thousand times, you don't even notice it. Someone did, however. And I believe that was the day that I began to hope, that change could happen. I remember one hot night in the City (and believe me, there is no hotter place on earth than Dayton, Ohio at 4 am on any night in late July). My semi-live-in companion of four years happened to be spending the night. Now, dig it, it's 90 degrees in any room in the apartment, every window is open, we're lying a foot apart, each in our own puddle of sweat, and a taxi pulls up across the street and blows his horn. Once. Twice. With a sigh, my man pulled on his boxers and heads out the door. Almost immediately, the horn blows again, but comes to a shrieking halt to the sound of breaking glass, which was simultaneous with the taxi going from zero to 80 in 4 seconds. A minute later, my man was back in bed, even sweatier, but obviously pleased with himself. "You didn't," I said. "You don't need to know," he answered. And all I could think was there wasn't a white boy alive east of Texas who would have had the cojones to do the same thing. At least not sober. My roomie did not suffer fools gladly. He also did not have much patience for all the societal or politically correct way to things. He certainly did it his way.

And here is a man in the white house whom I believe could pull that off as well as my roomie. He would have, however, some sort of arbitration or settlement discussions or something. THEN he would throw the brick. I like that in a man. I like that a lot.

Mr. Obama ... should you have need of a brick-thrower, in any sense of the word, I'm sure I have the man for you.

Blessed be.

Inauguration Day. It's always had an important ring to it. It was a fifth grade spelling word. It was five syllables, for chrissakes.