A Feeling of Uselessness > What Barack Obama Means to Me

After spending nearly the last ten weeks slaving away at office administrivia, business plans, and more useless office paperwork, I find myself unable to get motivated and actually accomplish anything. I told myself that after ABL was over that I would start exercising again, read a couple of books, take a couple of dance classes, and generally be downright awesome. Since my last day of work, I’ve read the first chapter of Barack Obama’s Dreams from my Father, six pages of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Autumn of the Patriarch, and leafed through David Bach’s Live Green, Get Rich. To my credit, I have read numerous magazines cover to cover, including gems like Time and Complex. What intellectual stimuli pass through my frontal lobes into the depths of my cerebellum! Or is it my cerebrum? Ah, a testament to my B- in Human Physiology last quarter. I’ve run a total of -2 miles (ask me how that’s possible), and I have yet to take any dance classes, let alone finalize choreography that I have to teach this coming Wednesday. Sounds like a party, right?

The only significant development that has arisen from the last seven days has been my increased participation in Barack Obama’s campaign. I recently informally joined a political action committee (PAC) called MoveOn for Barack Obama, which is dedicated to (as is implied by its title) electing Barack Obama as the next president of the United States. A couple of days ago, I put on a small gathering with a couple of close friends to watch Obama’s nomination acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention in Denver. The fact that I went through the effort to put this thing together is huge, especially given that I was not (until the recent election) a huge fan of politics and was a skeptic of its ability to influence and create change. I took a chance and put on the party mainly because I was tired of what the Bush administration had been doing and because everyone and their mother had jumped on the Barack Obama bandwagon at Stanford and I wanted to take a sip of the cult Kool-Aid, granted that I did tout myself as a mildly-informed Obama supporter during the last school year.

As I prepared for the event, I found myself more and more drawn to the complexities and intricacies of Obama’s message of hope and change. Say what you will about his campaign being built solely on the strength of his rhetoric, but, as a former English major and a proponent of the power of writing and language, what he has to say is extremely gripping. I truly believe that, as an orator, you can only falsify your belief in what you are presenting to a certain extent; in order for a speech to be truly moving, you must believe with all your heart the value and power of each word you speak. I see that, I hear that, I feel that each time I watch Senator Obama speak.

My time in college has led me to believe that my future lies in creating positive change, and I feel a connection to Obama’s words. In my mind, they are a call to action to every citizen of this great country, asking them to look past their own selfish wants to take care of his or her American family, whether White, Black, Asian, Hispanic, Native American, etc. We should not, as noble residents of this nation, let the color of our skin divide us, but rather allow the colors of our flag unite us and allow us to see that beyond the surface, we are all the children of opportunity and the bearers of great responsibility to each other and to the world. More importantly, we must realize that, like Obama said, “...change does not come from Washington; it comes to Washington”. We, as a body of Americans, are ultimately chartered to take hold on the future lying before us. We, as mothers and fathers of the next generation of citizens, must shape the destiny of our children now by our actions.

I feel that this is Obama’s message, and I believe this is why so many young people have clung to him and have elevated him to “celebrity” status, as the GOP likes to call it. And so what if he’s the political equivalent of a rock star? I would rather have a president that young people can proudly look up to, rather than one that is mocked and loathed on late-night sketch television (although I acknowledge that if Obama is elected, he is going to make mistakes and get smacked around on Saturday Night Live every once in a while). His influence alone has inspired millions of young people to register and vote (at least 4 million new Democrats) and countless others, regardless of party, creed, or gender, to take up arms in the fight against injustice, prejudice, and inequality. Obama has become a symbol of hope in an unsure time, and although that alone is not reason enough to elect him, it’s good knowing that, if elected, he will continue to be that for so many people as President.

If you are one of the dedicated souls who has endeavored to read this far, I ask that you humor me once more and either begin or continue to follow the election, whether or not you can vote. Learn about what needs to be done to make this nation better. If you can vote, I do not ask you to do so for Barack Obama without reason, but rather that you chose whomever you feel will be able to lead this country to become the America you would like it to be for yourself and your red, white, and blue brothers and sisters.

Thanks for reading!

Reflections on Seven Weeks Well Spent

I walked into the classroom at Cal State Los Angeles with my mind made up. It’s a real shame that I’ll only be with these kids for two weeks, I thought to myself. They sat there, looking a little uncomfortable and a little unsure of what the next seven weeks would bring. Some were introducing themselves to the others sitting near them; others kept to themselves or played with their cell phones, texting their friends about how they were bored and wished they were somewhere else.

It went like I expected, with each of the site staff introducing themselves in front of everyone and Diego periodically pumping up the students with exclamations of “USC is number... ONE!” loud enough so that anyone as far away as Cambodia could hear. But as each student introduced him- or herself to the rest of the class, my reservations diminished. There was something different about this class; there was an energy, a fire that I had never experienced during the program (albeit it was only my second summer on staff). I felt a connection with each student after he or she gave an introduction, and I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave. Not these kids, not this summer.

So the show went on and I waltzed into Mudd Hall with great reservations. These kids were nothing like my students at Cal State Fullerton; they were a little more volatile, a little more unpredictable, and a hell of a lot more rowdy. The next seven weeks, let me tell you, were HARD. I made a promise to myself that I would go to bed at 10:30 each night so I would wake up refreshed; that went down the drain as early as the third week. I told myself that I would leave USC every day at 3:30 so that I could get to office and return home on time; I think I left that early once. I even convinced myself that I couldn’t grow to love these kids as much as I did my students from last year; I couldn’t have been more wrong.

USC was a force this year. Each and every day, I would walk through the double doors of our classroom mentally and physically exhausted, but the energy that emanated from 68 loud, rambunctious students can sustain someone so much more than the Rockstars and White Chocolate Mochas I used to keep me wired throughout the summer. It was never difficult to remain inspired because there was always someone working harder than me. I would come into class at around 7:30 each morning completely tired after going to bed at midnight and I would hear how some students pulled all-nighters after going to work to finish their financials or marketing plans. Then they would commute from as far as the Valley to get to class on time. What did I have to complain about?

And it wasn’t even about the students’ work ethics... After weeks of yelling, screaming, and arguing, these kids really did become family. I would often stand in front of the class, lecturing about the importance of respect and commitment to each other, but I didn’t believe that a class of 68 students from different walks of life could come together the way they did this summer, like a beautiful mosaic. During USC’s business plan competition, they would cheer each other on and celebrate if another group did well; they fed off each other’s success. Each time these kids threw up a “Fight On!”, they would throw up an “I Love You” as well. When Oknel was chosen to represent us, there was a genuine joy in each student’s face, and when Oknel didn’t place, a genuine heartbrokenness pervaded over USC’s normally enthusiastic demeanor. The truth is, these kids really did love each other, in a way that I have never seen any class come together over the course of my time at ABL. When I say that they shared their joys, sorrows, laughters, and tears, I mean that very literally. The empathy that each student felt for his or her classmates was remarkable, and something that will continue inspiring me as I continue my life after ABL.

So to my 68 kids at USC, best of luck to all of you; I thank God that you were able to change my mind about leaving ABL. Like I have told many of you time and time again, the reason I was able to do the things I did this summer was because I had 68 reasons every morning to go out and do my best. I love you all and I pray that this summer will only be mark the beginnings of the wonderful relationships I will be having with all of you in the future. Thank you for changing my life. I love you all.