I really like Thai food. But until January 19, sardined into a small Thai restaurant off Dupont Circle, I never had reason to cheer.
No obvious trigger set off the first round of cheers the night before President Barack Obama was inaugurated. Maybe it was a comment over crab wontons or an especially gaudy Obama button seen through the restaurant window. Whatever the cause, a host of indecipherable cheers went up from the corner table and quickly spread through the restaurant. The party of eight next to us tried to start the wave. When a 20-something suit announced that the Obama campaign's field director for Pennsylvania was there celebrating her birthday, the place erupted.
The excitement started when we set out on I-85 Sunday morning. We had left early, anticipating heavy D.C.-bound traffic. We did not anticipate, however, that we would be part of an inaugural parade, surrounded by sticker-emblazoned cars from Georgia and both Carolinas honking exuberantly and traveling north with common purpose.
Obama's inauguration drew inevitable comparison with Martin Luther King Jr.'s March on Washington, and for many it was a culmination of the dream King expressed.
But I wonder if King and his supporters-and the city they marched on-were as conscious of the history they were making as the honking drivers and cheering diners were on Inauguration weekend. Did enterprising D.C. vendors create King buttons and T-shirts? Did The Post run a 38-page commemorative special for August 28, 1963? Or did King and the march's organizers travel to Washington uncertain of the march's importance, fearing they were hosting a party to which no one would come?
I can recall no event in my lifetime that was declared historic so early on and with such unabashed certainty as was the inauguration of Barack Obama. And the collective anticipation of the event created an atmosphere of festivity and consanguinity like nothing else.
But this very quality that made the inauguration so exciting, that caused drivers two days and 200 miles away to honk their horns, also threatened to make it a commodity or a caricature. Street vendors hawked posters, T-shirts and buttons of the incoming first family. IKEA reminded metro passengers that "Change begins at home," and the Hair Cuttery pointed out that it was time for a change.
Even the most pro-Obama of local officials must have awaited January 20 with apprehension, wondering if metros would clog with people or the porta-potties would not be enough. With so much energy spent profiting off and preparing for the massive crowds, how could the event measure up to the hype?
I was not, therefore, in the best of moods when I woke up at six that Tuesday. Bundled in four shirts and ski socks, I muttered curses as I walked to catch the bus downtown from Arlington. Munching on a cold granola bar, I wanted only to get through the morning and be Part of History, sponsored by IKEA.
The excitement of my groggy fellow passengers only partially revived me as we disembarked at the bottom of the National Mall and began walking up Independence Avenue toward the Capitol. When the sun rose over the Capitol dome, however, I forgot that I was part of history.
I am fairly confident that I learned sarcasm within months of learning speech, and the only letter to the editor I ever wrote was at age 13, when I cynically criticized the petty campaign ads of both George W. Bush and Al Gore. I reserve unadulterated respect for Thai food, not for politics or people. Yet when I saw the Capitol dome at dawn, I struggled to maintain my ironic distance. I recalled why I had come-to witness the inauguration of the 44th American president, the first black president and the first president for whom I had cast a vote. I was still freezing and irritable, but I was deeply humbled.
When Obama was sworn in, I was in excellent position to see a sea of hats and the roof of the Capitol. By jumping pathetically, I could occasionally glimpse the Jumbotron. But when Obama began to speak, I crossed my arms, closed my eyes and listened.
Years from now, I will remember Obama's solemn call for unity, sacrifice and renewal. But I will also remember that at that point, I could not feel my toes. I will remember that the middle-aged woman pressed up against us in the crowd apologized for touching my boyfriend inappropriately and that the poem following Obama's address was laughably bad. I could have predicted-and millions did-that Obama's inauguration would be historic. I could not have predicted how sweet Aretha Franklin's hat would be.
Obama became the first black president January 20, but on the 21st he became the third president, after Chester A. Arthur and Calvin Coolidge, to retake the oath of office because of slip-ups the first time around. And the awkward humor of the second event is as much a part of history as the unquestionable significance of the first.
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