BENEATH THE SPIN • ERIC L. WATTREE

I have no way of proving this, but I think some things are just meant to happen--like the day I walked into my mother's office as a 16 year old gangster and high school dropout. It was my intent to get money so I could purchase drugs. But my mother was a step ahead of me, so I didn't get any money, but I did meet the 14 year old ghetto girl who was destined to change my life.

When I walked through that door with the very worst of intentions, little did I know that I was walking away from the very gates of Hell, right into the arms of one of God's sweetest angels, sent to Earth just to save my worthless soul. Her name was Valdie, and while I had no idea at the time, she was to become my wife of 33 years, give birth to my daughter, Kai, and son, Eric Jr, who would present me with five beautiful grandchildren.

When Val and I married me at 19 and 21 years old, everybody predicted that it would never last. They said that we were too young, and I was too reckless. But things seem to come together to mold our bond, and allowed us to live a near perfect life. I still can't figure it out. By the time my daughter was born a year later, we moved from the inner-city to the Baldwin Hills area of Los Angeles, and we never wanted for a thing.

In fact, we lived better than our parents-our neighbors were all professionals, lawyers, pharmacists, radio personalities, and such. They saw us as struggling kids, so they would discretely, but careful not to insult our pride, do little things that helped us to keep our heads above water. Like the policeman's wife who insisted on keeping our kids after my son was born. That alone saved us over $400 a month-and that was during a time when many people wern't paying but $150 a month for rent.

It seemed that we just couldn't do anything that turned out badly. Even when I lost my job-that led to my being "forced" to go back to school to take advantage of my veteran's benefits, just to bring money into the house. Less than a month later short, my boss realized that he needed me, because I had memorized what they found needed a catalog to try to keep up with, but by that time I had been influenced by my neighbors, and had started to recognize the possibilities that came with the degree I obtained shortly thereafter.

From the very beginning, Val always seemed to have more faith in me than I had in myself, and she was always able to see what I couldn't. She pushed and pushed, until she finally got me to write a book. Then once it was published, she threw a party so she could brag to her friends. Then on the night of April 28, 2005, after a very pleasant night of sitting around home and watching movies, she went to bed, and died. She never got to see the book in print, but God doesn't work like that--her job was done.

After Val's death, we found that she must have known it was coming, because she had written her own obituary (with a note to me, not to change a thing), and had the dress that she wanted to be buried in draped in plastic in the back of the closet. And in her Obituary she went back through our lives from the moment we met, to just months before her death.

The point of her obituary was gripping and profound. And hearing her words and phrasing, made it seem like she was there, hovering among us. All of the weeping and moaning in the mortuary stopped during the reading. You could hear a pin drop, as she pointed out that certain things in life are just meant to be. She indicated that sometimes there's a confluence of forces that come together in the universe that makes it impossible for certain events not to happen. Her words continued to come to mind, as I watch to rise of Barack Obama.

Just think about all of the events that had to come together to make A President Obama possible:

First, the DNA of an African boy in Kenya had to be mixed with a young White girl in Kansas, the heartland of America, which entailed the African boy traveling all the way to the United States. Then once that was done, Barack's father had fulfilled his task, and after a brief bonding with his son, he died. Thereafter, his loving mother had to have the insight, determined, and knowledge wake her young Black son up every morning at 4 a.m. to prepare him, and lay a foundation to ensure that he had a fighting chance in a world that she knew wouldn't cut him a bit of slack.

She then traveled, with him in tow, exposing him to a knowledge of different cultures-including exposure to the one culture (Muslim ) upon which his knowledge thereof would prove invaluable to his future task. Then once her task was done, she suffered a lingering death. But even her death served a purpose-it exposed her son to the suffering of the middle class and poor who became ill without the resources to sustain themselves.

He was then exposed to the lifestyle and attitudes of his White middle class grandparents, giving him a specialized knowledge of the mores of White culture in the heartland of America. And through and devotion of his grandparents, he learned that people are people, and that we all love and suffer, in the same way. Then once his grandparents' job was done, they too died-his grandmother, just one day before he became President of the United States of America.

It's almost enough to make one feel sorry for Sen. McCain, because he never had a chance. The confluence of events made his task insurmountable: Katrina, Republican scandals, the collapse of the Bush administration, and the financial crisis-att was all written in the wind. It should have given them a hint when the conservative minister suggested that Republicans pray that it rained on Obama's acceptance speech, only to have a hurricane disrupt, then blew in Sarah Palin and "Troopergate" during the Republican National Convention. That minister prayed in an ill wind for the Republican Party as a whole.

While some might say that the untimely death of Obama's grandmother was a cruel act of God, as a person who's not even particularly religious, it indicates to me that there must be something beyond this life. Because I don't think taking Barack's grandmother away just one day before the proudest day of her life was a cruel act of God at all-on the contrary.

I think what the world may see as an untimely death, was actually a reward from God for a job well done. He rewarded that grand lady with the best seat in the house, free of the ravages of age, suffering, and physical pain, right along side her husband and daughter, to witness the wondrous moment that their love, selfless sacrifice, and dedication had wrought.

Eric L. Wattree