Me. In 2007, an 18-year-old bright-eyed, not so bushy-haired freshman in college at an all woman’s university in Texas voted for the first Black President of the United States of America.  What a proud day.  I walked into the student union to cast my vote on an absentee ballot.  I remember the hallway.  I remember the cork boards.  The many, many cork boards.  Littered with information from variations campus organizations that I’m sure not one student gave a second glance, advertisements calling for recruits in both the NPHC and PHC that I always ignored and party flyers promoting shindigs at our neighboring university that were sure to be trashed soon.  I passed all of those cork boards in order to get to one.  The board that was positioned in front of the post office.  It was packed with information about voting early and by absentee ballot.  In front of it was a blue desk that was as high as my chest and always housed a few pens.  As I began to cast my vote, I thought of how simply cool it was to be voting for a Black President.  A Black President! This was the first time I’d ever had the opportunity to vote in my life and I was voting for a Black President. Well, my sheer joy did not last very long as I realized I may be late for class.  So, I sealed my envelope properly and slid it into the outgoing mail bin before shuffling off to class.  

I don’t remember much of the campaign chattering the news after that.  I simply went on with everyday life, adjusting to new-found freedom and fighting to keep my grades stellar in a biology program that I wasn’t completely sure I wanted to be in.  Forming a social life was no cake-walk either.  I mean, between making new friends, remaining a “good girl”, and learning what college-life was all about, I didn’t think much about the Obamas or Mr. President Barack Hussein Obama at all. 

And then He won.  He won.  He freaking won! As I watched his speech in my dorm room and saw Oprah crying tears of pure joy I thought, “why? why is she crying so hard? and so ugly?”  Then something came over it.  It was almost as if God had interjected my thoughts for a second just to help me remember.  I was quickly reminded of being an 8 year old living in Ridgeland, Mississippi and one of our white male neighbors calling my father a nigger.  All because of some harmless fireworks.  I was reminded of being at work with my mother while she was the general manager of a shoe store in Jackson, Mississippi when a disgruntled customer’s white husband began kicking shoe boxes around the store shouting something to the effect of “that’s why they shouldn’t let these monkeys have anything”.  All because my mother decided to follow store policy and refused to accept the customer’s return of shoes that were clearly worn.  I was reminded of an incident that I witnessed in that same store, where a rent-a-cop pulled a gun on my dad for “not moving his car when he told him to” yet my dad was the person arrested after the police were called.  I remember going to court with my parents and, then, toddler-aged little brother as my dad challenged the incident.  And trust me, I clearly remember getting on the elevator to leave the courthouse and my dad, with tears in his green eyes, saying “the prosecutor was racist too, he was supposed to be on MY side”.  Oh, I remember.  So much more than that. 

Oprah’s tears then began to make sense.  The “Dream” had been realized.  Martin’s dream had been realized.  His, along with countless others’, struggles were not in vain.  A Black man had achieved in securing the highest office in the United States of America and the most powerful position in the world.  No, we weren’t all the way “there” yet.  Goodness, we still have so far to go in reaching that coveted “Promised Land”.  But the dream was real now.  It was at least tangible.  And just like I had seen so much, she had seen much more.  My grandmother had seen so much more as the daughter of a sharecropper in rural Mississippi walking to school every day with the very real possiblity of seeing black bodies hanging from magnolia trees.  My great-grandmother had seen so much more as she was threatened and harassed while trying to vote after being granted the right by the 15th amendment.  EVERYONE had seen and experienced so. much. more. 

Over his 8 year run as President, Mr. President Barack Hussein Obama accomplished a ton.  The Affordable Care Act, the lowest unemployment rate this country has seen in decades, reducing the deficit, taking out terrorists, and so much more.  NOTE: Please use Google if you have any questions, concerns, or further considerations regarding the aforementioned list of President Obama’s receipts.  She is a wonderful friend who will never grow weary of your inquiries. 

I digress.  

While I am sad to see him go, I have decided that this week will not be spent mourning him and his amazingly beautiful, gracious, and strong Black family being forced to leave the white house.  To mourn the end of President Obama’s presidency would mean I’d need to become comfortable with ushering in his replacement.  And, well, his replacement just isn’t worthy.  Simple as that.  What I WILL do, on this beautiful day of remembrance of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., is celebrate President Obama’s and Dr. King’s legacies together.  Because MY President will ALWAYS be Black. 

-Sarabi