As I prepared for work this morning, I thought I saw the light of my phone.  I immediately shook my head, thinking that I must be seeing things because surely no one was up AND CALLING SOMEONE.  However, the screen was undoubtedly lit.  Upon closer look, I smiled when I saw that the caller was identified as "Dad."  I answered excitedly, only to be greeted by silence. I held the phone a few more seconds. "Dad?.... Da-aaaaddd? Daaa-dddyyyy???"  Still no answer.  So, I hung up.  But the phone lit a few minutes later, only to have the same result.  My phone rang a third time, in the middle of my texting him to say that he must be having a GREAT time because NOBODY pocket texts at that time of morning.  However, this time, he actually said something.

My dad, who lives in Chicago, said he was just returning home from McCormick Place where the Obama supporters were gathered to watch the election results and then celebrate in his winning.  He said that the event was jammed packed and that it might have been a bit too much for a fella his age, in that even President Obama left a few hours before he did. 

I laughed at the idea of my dad coming home at 4:30 in the morning, but smiled when I realized how much it meant for him to be a part of the action. In a world where the stereotypes of minorities supercede any accomplishments, where 13% (or 1.4 million), Black men are not eligible to vote, and in a city where a person's chance of becoming a victim of violent crime is 1 in 94, according to Neighborhood Scout, my 50-something dad was able to cast his ballot, convene with others, have a good time, return home safely, and call to share his final moments of the day's joy with me.