I laughed at them. Silly cultists, drinking Kool-Aid, talking about The Savior, The Messiah, The One. I laughed at the slogans they chanted. Fired up. Hope and Change. Yes we can.
Bunch of nonsense.
I said I'd vote for him anyway. He's a Democrat, and we need one in the White House.
I said I'd vote for him anyway. McCain is worse, a continuation of eight disastrous years, and an assault on every single one of my personal and political values.
But this week, I stopped being just a Democrat who will vote for the party's nominee.
This week, I became an Obamabot.
I can't tell you the exact moment it happened.
I loved Michelle Obama's speech on Monday. She was stunningly beautiful and composed, but also warm and passionate. She spoke about her life, about her husband, about their beliefs and dreams that they want to share with the American people. With me.
When she said the words "18 million cracks," I cried. I couldn't help it. I'd wanted so much for Hillary Clinton to be the nominee and take back the White House and shatter the glass ceiling once and for all.
And there was Michelle Obama, who, with three simple words, not only acknowledged everything I felt, but said she felt the same way too. She wanted it too. She's a woman and a mother of two daughters, and she wants to smash that ceiling as much as I do.
And with those three words, she seemed to be promising that it will happen. Her husband will help us continue to shatter glass ceilings everywhere across America.
And I wept with joy and, yes, with hope.
But I don't know if that wasn't the moment I became an Obamabot.
Because then there was Tuesday. Oh, Tuesday.
When Hillary Clinton took the stage, was there any Democrat in America who would question why I and so many others supported her? She was glorious -- beautiful in a color few can wear, more passionate than she has ever been, gracious and sincere in her support of Obama, and clear in her message to all of us that we are Democrats, we are family, and we must work together to change this country.
And then she made me cry.
I'm a United States senator because in 1848 a group of courageous women and a few brave men gathered in Seneca Falls, New York, many traveling for days and nights -- (cheers, applause) -- to participate in the first convention on women's rights in our history.And so dawned a struggle for the right to vote that would last 72 years, handed down by mother to daughter to granddaughter -- and a few sons and grandsons along the way.
These women and men looked into their daughters' eyes and imagined a fairer and freer world, and found the strength to fight. To rally. To picket. To endure ridicule and harassment, and brave violence and jail.
And after so many decades, 88 years ago on this very day, the 19th amendment giving women the right to vote became enshrined in our Constitution. (Cheers, applause.)
My mother was born before women could vote. My daughter got to vote for her mother for president. This is the story of America, of women and men who defy the odds and never give up.
But I don't know if that was the moment.
Because then there was Wednesday.
And on Wednesday, for the first time in eight years, I felt like maybe the Democratic Party was listening to us after all. Because we didn't want another wimpy convention, where Democrats were too afraid to take on Republicans. We don't want to play nice. We don't want to bite our tongues.
We want to win.
And they heard us. Was there any Democrat in America who watched John Kerry's speech and didn't think that if that John Kerry had reported for duty four years ago, we'd be working for President Kerry's re-election right now?
And there were others. The video of military service men and women telling their stories, pleading with us to end this war, bring them home, stop their friends from dying.
And there was the former Republican who proudly proclaimed he was now a Democrat because he knows his former party no longer represents anything but old, tired ideas that don't work.
And I realized in that moment that we are not just united -- we are unanimous. We all want change -- not just Obama supporters, not just Democrats, but all of us.
And then they gave us Bill. Bubba. The Big Dog. Call him what you will -- that man made me so proud to be a Democrat. Again. Finally.
Bill reminded us of why we loved him. Why we believed in him. Why we stood by him, in spite of all of his, uh, imperfections.
I fell in love with Bill Clinton all over again last night. Is there any Democrat in America who can't say the same?
He passed the torch. The man from Hope endorsed the man who gives us hope, and he did it with his trademark charm and humor and wit.
It was 1992, and I was a freshman in high school, sitting in my parents' living room with all their friends, cheering at the television as we watched President Bush's failed administration fade into oblivion and the dawning of a new era, and we danced and we sang, "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow."
What a tremendous feeling to hear that song once again. As if we were given permission to look into the future once more, instead of having to be afraid of what tomorrow might bring. No more terrorist threat color wheel; no more duct tape. It's going to be okay. We can look forward to tomorrow again.
But I don't know if that was the moment.
Because then Joe Biden spoke. And I'm no fan of Joe Biden. I could write an essay on all the reasons I'm no fan. I could, but I won't.
Because last night, I made peace with Joe Biden. I forgave him for all the ways he has let me down. None of that matters now. He did the job he needed to do. He made the case to us -- to me -- for Barack Obama. He made the case against John McCain. And this time, when he made one of his infamous gaffes, it was the right kind. Because John McCain really is just more of George Bush.
But I don't think Joe Biden's speech was the moment for me.
Because then Barack Obama himself took the stage, and I felt my heart swell and my lungs tighten and tears sting my eyes, and I realized that I wanted nothing more than to see this man, and his family, in the White House. In my White House.
I was convinced. After nearly two years and endless debate with my family and friends and fellow Kossacks, after my shock and disappointment at seeing my dream candidate defeated, after swallowing my pride and hopes and trying my best to be supportive of our party's nominee, and after an incredible week of seeing the all-stars of our party make the case, again and again and again, that we desperately need Barack Obama, I am convinced.
And I am fired up.
And I believe in Hope and Change.
I get it now. I understand.
Yes We Can.
Yes We Can.
Yes We Can.
It is not just a slogan. It is not just a silly music video made by celebrities who are want to endorse the next hip thing.
It is our truth, as Democrats and as Americans.
Yes. We. Can.
So this, today, is my moment. This is the moment I went from being a good Democrat to a proud Obamabot. Because today, I am going to my local campaign headquarters to volunteer for Barack Obama. Because helping to elect him may be the most important thing I've done in my thirty years so far.
Because now, I believe.
Yes We Can.
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