There's nothing I can say about today's events that has not already been said many times and by many people. So I'll just share with you the story of our day, which was very special indeed.

We decided Monday night that we simply could not stay home and watch the inauguration of our country's first African-American President on our couch behind shut doors. I wanted Harper to witness something of this day, and I knew that while he would never remember what was shown and said on television, he just might remember the excitement that so many people were feeling if he could see it in person.

We woke up to a crisp, sunny morning, and after greeting one of our neighbors with shouts of shared joy, we set off for Berkeley to watch the inauguration broadcast on a giant video screen in Sproul Plaza. It was so moving for Byrne and me to witness history in a place of such historical and personal significance for us. The air was electric as students, faculty, and community members packed in tightly to listen with silence and respect (except for some collective cheering, and OK, occasional booing) to the morning's proceedings.

I will never forget where I was and how I felt this morning, standing with my family surrounded by a sea of strangers--our family for that precious hour. May we all move forward with the same sense of inspiration we felt today, the same energy, focus, and determination to pull this country up and out and to help it reach its fullest promise.

At some point after I discovered I was pregnant with my son, my mind set upon a series of thoughts that surely runs through the mind of anyone about to become a parent: What kind of world I am bringing this baby into? What will I teach him about what is, and what is possible?

American children of my generation grew up learning that "anything is possible," that we could achieve anything we dreamed of if only we worked hard enough. That anyone could be successful, anyone could attain the American Dream. That anyone could be President.

What we saw in our textbooks and on the news and what we heard from our parents and teachers and on the playground told another story. At some point "anything is possible" began to sound less like an encouragement and more like a lie.

Tonight at our neighbors' packed Election Night party, I hugged friends and friends of friends and complete strangers as we all cried tears of joy. I cried for our country, and the fresh start it so desperately needs. I cried for our history--how long it took us to get here, but Hallelujah, we got here, Amen. But mostly I wept those elated tears for my baby, who God willing will grow up in a world that's a little closer to the one I dreamed and hoped and prayed he would know.

In the street behind my house, people have been honking and cheering and singing and celebrating with friends and strangers for hours. My son sleeps peacefully in his bed. Tomorrow he will wake up to a new day. We all will.

I have turned to poetry before for inspiration and to soothe my anxiety on election day, and as it turns out, I am not the only one who thinks about American poetry when political times hit fever pitch. On Sunday, I heard this piece on NPR's Weekend Edition:

"The day after our national election for president, one will be able to go outside and hear America singing," writes poet E. Ethelbert Miller. "Whitman's poetry is celebratory -- expressing the joy of our bodies but also the beauty of this land -- America." Miller joins host Liane Hansen to tell us why Whitman is the poet to read after the polls close.

You can listen to the short interview here. You might be compelled, as I was, to dig out those old "American Poets" textbooks from college as you nervously twiddle your fingers waiting for the day's results to drop. Whitman's work is indeed apropo to election season ("You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books/You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me/You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself"), and some of it is especially pertinent to this one. One reader here in 2008 can't help but see in the work below a more eloquent, old-school riff on the recently played-out "Joe the X" theme.

I Hear America Singing
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

Did you?

Okay, whatever. But, come on, it's creepy that Bush calls Karl Rove "The Architect".

Maybe you're not much of a stickers-on-your-person person. Or maybe you voted early or absentee and so now are stickerless, even though you're no less patriotic and democracy-lovin' than anyone else. Well, how 'bout posting a snazzy "I Voted" badge on your Web site, blog, or e-mail instead? Go get one.

If loving a person means opening your eyes to their ugliest behaviors as well as their shining moments, then loving your country must entail the same. That's why I think it's so important, especially now, to see the documentary Fahrenheit 9/11.

Patriotism is about much more than flying a flag from your car or trusting a president and his policies unconditionally. It's about participation in what makes our country great--freedom of speech, assembly, and of the press; freedom to dissent; freedom to engage in open, nonviolent debate about current events. And it's about making your voice heard by voting. We are lucky as Americans to have the right to peacefully overthrow our government every four years, or to endorse the current one with our votes. The choice, theoretically, is ours. But as with all the precious rights we Americans are endowed with, that choice should be excercised carefully and responsibly, part of which means gathering as much information as one can in order to make a truly informed decision.

Michael Moore's film is slanted with his own prejudices and individual brand of smarm, sure, but he's never claimed to be unbiased, in fact, he openly admits to his political standpoint. Besides, most of the footage in the film speaks for itself. Even if you choose to dismiss Moore's voiceovers, editing, and stunts, you owe it to yourself to at least acknowledge the questions the film raises. Are there truly such deep and intertwined connections between the Saudi royal family and the Bushes? Were our intelligence and counterterrorism agencies encouraged to find nonexistent connections between 9/11 and Iraq, and ignore other more obvious ties? Why have so many young men and women been sent to their deaths and disabilities in Iraq, and what is our war doing to the innocent people who call that country home? What has happened to our constitutional rights--those types of rights we claim to want to bring to the rest of the world by any means necessary--since September 2001?

Go catch a screening and see for yourself what you think. Please, before you collect that "I Voted" sticker in November, think.

P.S. Check out my neighborhood theater pictured on Michael Moore's home page. <Oakland pride>

Surely you have already spent at least 13 minutes watching the 26 finalists of the Bush in 30 Seconds political ad contest. What? You have not? You are so dreadfully behind! (Scolds the girl who just caught on to the site two days ago).