On a whim, I volunteered to work in Indianapolis on Election Day for the Obama campaign.  My job was simple: go door to door in the assigned neighborhoods and make sure everyone has voted; if they haven't voted, make sure they know where to do it and, if they have no way of getting there, arrange for them to be picked up by the campaign and transported there. 

            The neighborhood we were working in was a suburban, lower-middle class, and predominantly African-American suburb of Indianapolis.  I was very pleased to notice that virtually every person I spoke with had already voted or were sure to later on in the day, and there seemed to be an overall air of excitement throughout the streets as I encountered one person after another.   

            After about seven hours of work, with the polls closing in just over an hour, we were all a little bit weary of the job and very anxious to get back to Chicago for the rally in Grant Park.  However, we agreed to do one last shift.

            It was near the end of this final shift when I came up to a house like most of the other ones I had been to throughout the day.  There was a brick path partially hidden by stray weeds, leading to one of those squeaky screen doors that snap shut and, afterwards, one continues to hear the hum of the spring vibrating and the thwack of the door bouncing against its wooden frame. 

I knocked on the door and after a few seconds a woman who was the obvious mother of the household came to greet me.  Her skin was a deep and rich brown, and her eyes, pearly white, stared directly into mine.  Behind her, I could hear the sounds of children shouting, and saw some toys splayed across the floor.  Before I even had the chance to smile and introduce myself, the woman gave to me a smile such that I will never forget.  Her smile struck a chord inside of me.  The warmth and comfort she emitted made me, a white Jew from New York, feel as if I were right at home.

"Hello ma'am, my name is Todd and I'm just here to make sure you came out to vote today", I said.  "Oh, we voted first thing this morning", she replied, never breaking her smile.  "Well that's great ma'am, it should be a great night tonight", I responded. 

"It will be a beautiful night tonight" she said, her smile growing even wider, the words flowing out of her mouth with such grace it felt like a song.  In that short and simple statement, there was so much more emotion than I am capable of putting into words.  We looked into each other's eyes for one last moment before I left her doorstep.

Before this encounter, I understood the significance that Barack Obama being elected would have in terms of race; that is, I knew of the history of the civil rights movement, the centuries of injustice, and that Obama being elected would be an enormous step in the battle for equality among African-Americans.  But at that moment, standing before this woman with that incredible smile, I felt the significance.  I experienced the hope she was feeling, the anticipation welled up inside of her for the moment she never imagined she would live to see and only prayed that her children would.

Hours later, standing amongst 125,000 people on a field in Grant Park, the words "Barack Obama Elected President" flashed onto a jumbotron.  Reading those words, surrounded by people cheering, hugging, and crying, the image of that smiling African-American mother from Indianapolis immediately came to mind.

I'm not saying that Barack Obama should've been elected solely for the reason that he is an African-American.  Our country is in the middle of two wars and facing an economic crisis the likes of which we haven't seen for over seventy years.  I believe Barack Obama is the best man to steer America out of these challenging times because of his judgment, even-temperament, and his ability to inspire a nation.  Still, all throughout the night I couldn't stop picturing that woman whose name I'll never know and who I'll likely never see again. 

I just wish I could have seen the smile on her face.