Democratic National Convention

I heard the Word of Obama this morning, sitting on the floor of my parents' bedroom. My mother, like the crowds of Invesco, shouting "Amen," and clapping her hands, thrilled out of her skin, my father, grumbling out of bed and I, so many eyebrows raised in a skepticism my mother calls, "Sad."
I tried to make it to the stadium, to hear the speech firsthand, to witness, "History in the Making," but something kept me last night.