The third day of the DNC left me full with hope. I missed Bill Clinton’s speech but saw enough highlights to know it was great. I liked that he made Obama’s campaign for the White House analogous with his, that the criticism about his youth and inexperience now being leveled against Obama is a well-worn Republican tactic when not on “the right side of history.”
Hillary’s call to change the rules in favor of a vote by acclamation was a class act, but I’m not sure that it wasn’t choreographed. There have been more and more people accussing the Clintons of being selfish lately, especially after the public learned that Hillary lobbied for her name to be on the roll call vote. Bottom line is she looked magnanimous.
What left a bad taste was Pelosi not leaving any time for anyone to vote on her motion for a nay vote; it may have been the right procedural thing to do, but in a convention full of symbolism, it left me with a little bit of a bad taste.
What resonated to me the most was when the son, Bo Biden, introduced the father, Joe Biden. Having recently lost my own father last year, that moment these two shared on stage appealed to me and viewed it very special. The mutual admiration and pride each had of one another helped me relate to them in a weird way. When Joe Biden honored his mother and described how he was raised by her to embrace failure as an opportunity to be stronger, it reminded me of my own upbringing, somewhat, especially as the eldest who was often expected to always do right. It definitely made me think of my own mother.
Biden’s chorus –“McCain is more of the same” — was the best part of his speech, which was overall underwhelming despite how he shouted through it. Pundits liked it though; all agree it served its purpose, and very well.
Obama’s “surprise” appearance was cool. And it capped what was already an emotional third day. To think he made it as the nominee is a dream come true. Weirdly enough, when dreams come true one imagines jumping up in joy. But I did not. It must be the shock and awe of witnessing a historic moment before my very eyes. Or it could be the cautious optimism of a young Filipino American community worker eager not to ruin it — not to jinks it for Obama. I can always — and plan to — jump for joy on November 5.