"It's a great day in the morning, people...

... victory is mine!"
--Joshua Lyman, The West Wing

I remember the first time I felt like I had to apologize for my nationality. I was fourteen years old, in ninth-grade World Geography, in early November 2000. Mr. Wingard had arranged for some people from Central America to come and speak with our class, and at one point one of them asked: "What do you think of your President?"

"We don't have a President," said the class clown. (Remember 2000? Doesn't it seem like a long and painful time ago?)

When the laughter subsided, the Central Americans persisted -- they meant, what did we think of Bill Clinton? Being white, middle-class kids in a New England school, we said we thought he had done all right. I remember their looks of disapproval and disappointment, and I remember the foot-shuffling, shame-faced quiet that fell over the class. Clearly they knew something we did not. Clearly there was another side of the story, one that we all felt we needed to, but couldn't, apologize for.

In the intervening years, I have wondered many times whether the apology of a citizen can help atone for the sins of the leader, and whether the apology of one person can atone for the monumental apathy or simple stupidity of an entire nation. I went to school in Canada for reasons beyond competitive tuition. I have never gone so far as to put a Canadian flag on my backpack -- but there has certainly never been an American one there, either. I was pleased when our (Canadian) adviser here told me that I was the most Canadian-sounding American he'd ever met, and when a friend told me that I spoke with such an odd accent that she hadn't believed at first that I was American.

I have come of age under the Bush Presidency. And so ever since I was old enough to know better, being American has not been something to shout from the rooftops.

That changed this afternoon. At exactly 1.01 pm Tokyo Standard Time, I became proud to be an American for the first time in my adult life.

People told me I'd remember 9/11 for the rest of my life, but I prefer these moments, as they were jotted down on the first piece of scrap paper I could find:

13.01: I have just watched the BBC election tracker color California, Oregon, Washington, and Virginia blue, and rack Obama's electoral college score up to 297. I am in disbelief. I am waiting for something to go wrong.
13.24: McCain is conceding. I am marking quizzes.
13.26: Sarah Palin looks like she has half a head. The woman can't find her light, but she wanted us to elect her Vice President?
14:01: Obama is making his victory speech. I am ignoring class notebooks.
14.05: I have to go supervise cleaning time. Damned cleaning time.
14.12: McCain had one flag. Obama has like eight.

What I wouldn't give to have been in America for the past two days -- hell, the past three months -- hell, the past two years. I thought it was bad to miss the 2004 election. I can't believe I've missed this one too.

This is so big, and so wonderful. I feel like I am flying.

In more local, but equally joyous, news, a 25-year-old whose prior political experience was with the Maine People's Alliance (which is just as Birkenstocks-y as it sounds) managed to clinch 72% of the vote and is headed to Augusta as the District 15 State Representative. I am as proud and happy as if I'd gone to school with him instead of his kid sister. Congratulations, Adam!

And congratulations to everyone who considers "liberal" or "progressive" or "socialist" to be a badge of honor rather than an insult. It has been a long and painful road, but it's our time in the sun.