January 22, 2009--The Ladies of Forest Trace: A Time for Prose

“Yesterday, I felt a little disappointed.” It was Wednesday, the day after Barack Obama was inaugurated, and my hundred year-old mother was calling to talk about how she thought it went.

She had been an enthusiastic supporter of Obama’s from the day he announced he was running for the presidency and had to deal with the grief that was directed her way by the octogenarian and nonagenarian women, Hillary supporters all, who lived with her at Forest Trace, a retirement community in Lauderhill, Florida.

“How disappointed?” I asked, “I thought everything went well. It was a historic day and it seemed as if everyone was moved by the occasion and was wishing him well. Including most Republicans. I couldn’t stop myself from crying like a baby when he first appeared on the platform.”

“I felt the same way. I had a big box of Kleenex right next to the TV. I go back many, many years and I remember how much prejudice there was in this country. And I’m not talking just down here in the South. Up north too. Even in Brooklyn where we lived. You remember how they treated your colored friend, I mean your black friend Henry Cross?”

“Indeed I do remember that very well. It still breaks my heart whenever I think about it. And that’s my point—January 20th was a remarkable day for many reasons, mainly because someone from Barack Obama’s background could be elected here so few years after blacks and whites in many places weren’t even allowed to go to school together. So I can’t imagine why you felt any disappointment.”

“It was his speech I was disappointed in. He has delivered so many remarkable speeches beginning from back four years ago when he spoke at the Democratic convention. When he talked so eloquently about how there are no red states or blue states but just the United States of America. And then during the campaign when he spoke about race and how he could not disavow the Reverend Wright any more than he could his own white grandmother. You do remember those speeches, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Like everyone else I was very moved by them.”

“Now you’re getting my point. How in the days leading up to the Inauguration on TV, in the Miami Herald, and with the girls here, all they and we talked about was how his speech would be as memorable as Roosevelt’s and Kennedy’s and maybe even Lincoln’s.”

“You’re right. They were talking about it that way. Anticipating something as memorable and historic.” I was beginning to sense where she was going with this.

“And the ladies here were worried that he was setting the bar too high for himself. That’s the way they put it—talking about the bar—just like Wolf on CNN.”

“I agree. There was much of this kind of speculation. In fact, you and I talked about how in general maybe the greatest danger he faces now is that people have expectations for him that are unrealistic. That he alone can solve our problems . . .”

“. . . and quickly. Yes we talked about that last week. That is a real concern. But again, you’re distracting me from my point—my disappointment. With his speech.”

“Sorry, I . . . “

“Nothing to be sorry about. Just let me finish my thought. I’m an old lady and some times it takes me a while to get all my thoughts arranged.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

“Enough with the I’m-sorries. Just for a minute be patient with me.” I grunted into the phone to indicate I would. “You must admit that there are not that many things to quote from his speech. Nothing like, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.’ Did I say that right?”

“Close enough. And I agree, there wasn’t anything quite like that, though he said his own version of the same thing.”

“And so, yesterday I felt that though it was a good speech it wasn’t a great or a very moving speech. In that regard, it was not even one of his most powerful. What was moving was to see him there with his wonderful family. But the speech itself was not one of his best.”

“To tell you the truth, mom, I think the same thing. It felt a little ordinary. Not the ideas,” I quickly added since I knew she had more to say, “but the language.”

“Now you’re coming to understand what I’m trying to say to you.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“It is all about language. Just as you said. In his earlier speeches there was so much rich language. So much that felt like, I can’t put it any other way, like poetry. That’s what was missing on Tuesday—poetry.”

“But . . .”

“Again, please, I have a little more to say. I said to you that I felt disappointed yesterday—Inauguration day. But since I have come to respect him so much I assumed he knew that. That he knew his speech, which I understand he mainly wrote himself, was not poetic. So I wondered why he chose to write it that way. Why he made it sound more like prose than poetry. There must be a reason for that. I was so convinced of that that I didn’t sleep well Tuesday night—not that at my age I do very much sleeping—I kept tossing and turning because I wanted to see the newspaper which I assumed would have a copy of the entire speech. So I could read it and think more about it.

“Then today I got up early to get my copy of the Herald from the delivery boy. And I read the entire speech. Two times. It’s not that long. The more I read it the more I realized he had chosen the right kind of language for the ideas he offered to us and the rest of the world. The first part, don’t you agree, was a serious criticism of the previous generation—I think all the way back to 1980, not just the administration of George Bush. How not only the government but also corporations and all the rest of us had allowed what happened to happen. The economy was allowed to fail. The schools were allowed to fail. And the healthcare system. And too many families. I liked when he quoted from the Bible, even though it was from the New Testament, about how we have all been preoccupied with childish things. This was a very courageous thing to say, wasn’t it, to compare our behavior to children’s?

“And then he reminded us that we have experienced hard times before. I lived through many of them. Even worse ones than today. And how, he said, we have to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America. That’s almost a direct quote from his speech. And how much more like prose can it be to describe the need to pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off?”

“I too I must admit was struck by how ordinary that sounded.”

“That’s my whole point. How this is no longer the time for poetry. That time has passed. Earlier he inspired up with poetry but now it’s time for prose. We have to do exactly what he said—pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and get to work. Not just him. Not just Congress. Not just Wall Street. But everyone. Including you and me.”

“You may be right, mom.”

“So think about what you can do.” She paused and I could hear her labored breathing.

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. Very fine.” I sensed she had something more to say and was gathering herself, “Yesterday,” she whispered, “was the proudest day of my life.” I could hear her raspy breathing.

“I’m too old to play much of a part but you must.”

“I will think about what I can do.”

“You must.”

“I promise that I will.”

And then, as she hung up, she added, “I’m so glad to still be alive.”