by Chris Mohn

Chris and Erik Mohn cut into an Obama birthday cake as they celebrate both of their birthdays on January 20. (Courtesy photo)

What gift could I, a white mother turning 60, and our son Erik, a young black man (Bromfield grad 2005, senior at Howard University) turning 22, share? We chose to be together on our Jan. 20 birthdays in Washington, D.C., to celebrate the inauguration of President Barack Obama. Hard to imagine anything better, but there was; it was also the weekend to celebrate the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. Celebrate all of this we did.

A brief snapshot into our adventures would include: attending the All Souls Unitarian Church service to reflect on the continuing challenge of Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, enjoying the inaugural concert at the Lincoln Memorial, watching the beginning of a moving interfaith peace revival—again at All Souls Church, wandering the National Mall contemplating the significant events that have occurred there, joining the approximately 1.8 million on the mall for the inauguration, and sharing birthday cake decorated with a picture of our new president. Bombarded by feelings and images, we were not able to articulate how we were being touched but knew we were witnessing and participating in something very profound and important. I will share three of these events that I will always hold close:

Inauguration Day, 6 a.m.: Erik, several of his friends, and I headed out for the mall, climbing aboard a bus to sit for the last time in the next many hours. Wandering toward the mall in the waking morning, accompanied by thousands, I looked around me and was overcome with emotion, becoming aware of the magnitude of this event. I saw a family with a child sleeping on a parent’s back, young people of every color and clothing style, an older black woman with her walker, an older white woman bundled up in a wheelchair wearing a button on her hat (“old white woman for Obama”), an elderly Japanese man using his cane to support his frail body, and every possible type of human in between—all coming together for this event. We found a spot on the mall, very near the Smithsonian castle, where we were able to see a JumboTron screen and hear clearly. We could see the Capitol about a quarter mile away. The crowd was quiet; people were smiling, trying to keep warm, chatting with people around them, and expressing amazement at this happening. We watched, listened to, and sang along with a replay of Sunday’s inaugural concert shown on the JumboTron. When the ceremony began, a hush fell over the crowd. I’ve never been on a spiritual pilgrimage before, at least not with 1.8 million people at my side and millions of others around the world, but I felt that I was on one then. Not a pilgrimage to a person, our new president, but to the hopes for our ideals and for unity. Other than a few jubilant eruptions and flag-waving (and the controversial and uncomfortable booing and singing to bid President Bush goodbye), we were quietly immersed in relishing every note of music, every image, every spoken word, immersed in this historic time. My friends laugh heartily when I admit that I was rendered speechless.

The second anecdote involves our birthdays. The bakery section of the grocery store was filled with inauguration cakes, decorated with pictures of President Obama, his family, and Martin Luther King Jr. We bought one of these cakes and took it back to share with Erik’s college housemates and myriad friends. Once we got home and looked at the cake, we couldn’t figure out how to eat it; we didn’t want to cut into our new president’s image. So we cut around the edges at first, leaving his image entirely intact. I then decided to “eat his ear,” commenting that he was such a good listener that I wanted his ear. Shortly thereafter I went to bed, leaving the college students to their own adventures. The next morning the cake was on the kitchen counter, much more eaten, but the face of our president still intact. I was impressed that the reverence they showed to our new president superseded their craving for sweets. I don’t know if they could ever bring themselves to eat it. I smiled.

My last story begins at Baltimore-Washington International Airport on Wednesday morning. It was filled with very tired but smiling, friendly people sharing their experiences, awe, and joy. I had intentionally arrived early so I could spend some quiet time journaling, trying to capture images and emotions on paper before I returned home. However, I found myself eavesdropping, an activity that I often do in public places . . . sometimes to the chagrin of my spouse! I looked over at two black women, one in a wheelchair and wearing a big Obama pin, the other wrapped in an Obama hat and scarf. They were commenting that in their wildest dreams they would never have imagined this day. After a very brief deliberation, I walked over to them, admitted my eavesdropping, and asked if I could join them. They were amazed and thrilled: “Please, please, this is what this is all about,” said one. It turns out they didn’t know one another—one was from Indianapolis, another from Richmond, Calif. We shared stories about the present, the 1960s, and our journeys in between. We laughed. We wept. We commented that each of us had been touched—deeply—and were returning to our homes changed. We couldn’t necessarily articulate the difference but we knew it was very deep and very important. As we went our separate ways, we hugged and bid each other farewell. We also asked a passerby to take our picture to have as a permanent image representing the “yes, we can” that we hope will grow.

In a phone conversation upon my return home, Erik commented, “This whole thing has not sunk in yet.” I agreed and encouraged him, a talented writer, to journal and capture his feelings. What I know about my time in D.C. is that I was thrilled to be with my son and his friends to witness this historic time. What I know is that I, a passionate teacher of seventh-graders, will continue to nurture my students not only to grow their intellectual skills and knowledge but to also be open to and inclusive of all kinds of people—people of all cultures, races, sexual orientations, religions, gender identities, economic situations. What I know is that I, a passionate advocate for fairness and justice for all, will continue that work. This kid of the 1960s is one happy 60-year-old woman committed to doing her part toward the “yes, we can.”

Chris Mohn lives on East Bare Hill Road.