BARACK OBAMA

It's about 12:35 am, and I'm watching coverage of the beat down and am reminiscing about the first time I actually met Barack Obama. I was wickedly hung over at the time, more than like smelled like beer and stale farts from an evening of virtual XBox warfare with my hardcore Republican life long brother and friend BG Hammer...and I'm not entirely sure I brushed my teeth that morning. But anyway, I'm sitting there one fine June morning with my 2 kids eating cereal, when suddenly my wife hangs up the phone on her mom and declares, "we're going to Union Park to see Barack Obama!" Based on the name alone, I just assumed we were going to meet a character from the Mortal Kombat videogame series, so I was all for it.

We arrive at the great beautiful merry-go-round at Union Park, and Barack's handlers see the stroller, our stunningly cute kids (I'm sorry, but Jackson makes the kid from Jerry Maguire look like Sloth from Goonies, and Jessica makes Martha Plimpton look like....Martha Plimpton. But I digress...) So anyway, Barack's handlers see my family, the stroller, my t-shirt that says IOWA; and they rush us like celebrities to the front front row...6 feet from the goofy wooden platform that this Mortal Kombat kombatant is going to deliver his address to the great people of the East Side.

His motorcade rolls up promptly at 10:00am as promised, and he strolls out in a crisply pressed white button down and Dockers. People are going cuckoo around us, including my wife. His first impression was dynamite, but I was still leary....hung over and leary.

So he immediately greets this crowd and goes into his now famous stump speech about hope and change...you know the one. The speech that makes people feel, you know, inspired and full of hope. Some just call it "words" or "rhetoric". I feel sorry for these people. As Heath Ledger's Joker might say, "Why so serious?" But again, I digress.

Anyway, he's giving this inspirational speech, and my daughter, who is 15 months old at the time, is stomping and pointing and babbling at all of Barack's key points. Obviously, Barack is a politician, so he pounces on the opportunity to address my toddler daughter, countering her toddler gobbly-goop babble with, "See? She doesn't like George Bush's foreign policy either!" (much laughter and applause) He continues, talking about the price of gas, the economy, the cost of college...and Jessica, age 15 months, goes cuckoo again! "See?!?!", the future President-Elect states, "She's worried about the cost of college too! And so is her Daddy!" (much applause and laughter). Jackson, age 3 at the time, is oblivious...too busy trying to share his Nerds with a massive bearded overall wearing unfiltered Camel smoking Hell's Angel sitting directly behind us. (Newsflash! The Hell's Angels are as big a fan of little kids as they are of adults. And they don't like candy either!)

So Baraka starts discussing Iraq, and Jessica starts stomping and pointing and baby barking again. If Fox Nexs had a camera there, they would have tied the two together.."Obama supports war hating baby!" or "Barack shares stage with war-hating domestic baby terrorist!")But AGAIN, I digress. No, our future President Elect doesn't play the same joke again, using my most precious child as a prop for a speech he's going to deliver a thousand plus times. But rather he shoots me a funny glance...warm and strangely understanding, as if he was hinting to me "hey, I've been there. It's politics, it's hot out here, and she's obviously bored. I wouldn't be offended if you scooped this angel up and took her to get a cool drink and hang out under a shade tree or something." So I did, smooth as silk. And he continued his stump speech.

So Jessica and I got our drink of water, much needed to say the least, and headed to a HUGE tree that stood within a thinly roped off area. "Why is this roped off?", I thought to myself as Jess and I dipped beneath the twine to get to the blessed shade. "This must be some important tree!"

I held Jess like I still do, tucked in one arm, head level so we can talk about stuff...when suddenly I get this weird sensation like I'm being watched. No, like I'm being monitored. Actually, monitored is too kind. Like I'm being....targeted? I scan the crowd 50 yards in front of Jess and I as we stand under this roped off shade tree as the future President Elect starts his improbable journey with just a few words that make people feel good, when I notice 2, 3, 5, 8 SECRET SERVICE people staring at my daughter and I, each with their right hands up to their right ears...communicating between them. It was like 8 Agent Smiths had a bead on me, ridiculously menacing sunglasses, same haircuts, all trained to blast/rip my face off on command. They didn't wave, gesture, or blink. They just stood, stared at me, and waited. Jessica babbled on about the Care Bears or something while I quietly and without threat, moved from this roped off area. Recognizing I was not "an asset", but rather a hung over dad with an overheated daughter, the Secret Service stood down.

After his speech, Jess and I managed to catch up to the future President Elect. He recognized me in a large line, thanked Jess and I for coming (I apologized for her behavior, he just laughed it off good naturedly) and we shook hands. He had a firm grip. And he made eye contact with me. I was impressed with that.

And here we are in November of 2008. This man, who just 2 summers ago made my goofball daughter part of his first stump speech in Iowa, has changed the course of history by winning the Presidency. And I have to say, I'm still impressed.