>I caucused last night for the first time. I had no idea what to expect. I went with my husband and my 7 year old daughter Lilli.
There was a long line up of cars off the exit ramp and I had a hard time believing these were people doing the same thing I was, but they were. It took us about 20 minutes to get near the high school and when we did we found a parking spot easily and effortlessly, and also found our classroom to vote in the same manner.
Walking up to the school, an older white man approached my husband and without being asked told my husband what door to go in that would get us in faster. We waited in line one minute. When we found our classroom, we wrote our names on blank sheets of paper and were handed a little green piece of paper, where I not once, but twice made sure I ‘x’d the right name- Barack Obama- and put my little piece of green paper in a shoe box with a hole on top.
Leaving the school, a man tapped me on the shoulder and told me how beautiful my daughter is. She in the world terms is ‘bi-racial’- meaning mommy is white and daddy is black. Not that long ago we were often stared at in our little white town of Savage and New Prague, where we previously lived. It wasn’t until I put an X on the name of Barack Obama, saw all the white folks and black folks smiling and happy, heard that man say my daughter is beautiful and remembering the man who showed us the easier way, did I realize how uncomfortable in this world I have felt- that is up until this day- caucus day. It brought tears to my eyes and I knew this is a new day.
Namaste,
Nikki
>It is a new day, in this regard. My family — brothers, sisters, cousins and all their children–is a big ole messy, vibrant multi-racial bunch! My brother used to tell me that when his first child was born, strangers would come up to him in the grocery store and ask “Oh, where did you get your baby” who looks Korean (my brother is OH SO WHITE with blinding blond hair) because my brother’s wife is just that! I asked him recently if this has happened with his latest child — six years down the road, and the question gave him pause. Not once.