Don't Tell the Boss

There I was standing in the American Girl Doll Store.... a new, shiny pink two-story fantasy world in the heart of Chicago's Miracle Mile. 

And there I was explaining a topic I didn't really think I'd have to address on this "girls' getaway" with my seven-year-old daughter the day after Thanksgiving:  The history of slavery in America.

You see my daughter wanted a doll.  An African-American American Girl doll.  And the only African-American doll in the historic dolls section of the store is a character named Addy Walker. 

And Addy's story?

She, her mother, and little sister were trying to escape slavery in order to find Addy's father and brother who had already been sold off. 

And Addy and her mother had to decide what to do with her baby sister, whose cries could lead to them being captured  by the slave owners.  I flipped through the "Addy" book that came with the doll.  On one of the pages was an illustration of a whip.  A whip.

Sorry, I grimaced.

I know slavery is an important and very painful part of the American story.  But the whole thing was just a little bit more than I was ready to deal with on what was supposed to be a carefree afternoon in Chicago.

Can we have an African American/American Girl doll who maybe tells the tale of the Civil Rights era?  Or maybe one who offers the story about African American's contribution to the Jazz era?  Or something?

I just wasn't ready for the slavery discussion.  So we chose another African American doll from the "Just Like Me" section of the store.

As a mother, I like to be a realist.  But I believe there is a time to be frank, and a time to have fun.  So I skipped over the Addy doll.

Because slavery is never a topic that I feel comfortable associating with my daughter's entertainment.

A couple of our extremely television savvy viewers messaged me, asking where I was this past weekend. 

You see, it's November.  A ratings period.  Anchors don't usually take off during the so-called "sweeps" period.

Well... they do in the case of a family emergency:

My husband's grandmother passed away last week and we had to travel to her funeral in New Jersey.  

Which meant a plane ride with the kids... a first for my five-month-old son Noah.

My seven-year-old is a wonderful traveler.  Always has been.  But I wasn't so sure how my baby would handle high altitude.  I've heard terrible stories about babies' eardrums popping on planes leading to loud and frantic meltdowns.  I really didn't want to be that mother desperately trying to calm her cranky baby. 

And what to pack for my little guy?  You know they dribble their way through countless bibs and onesies, or have superpoops that can leak halfway up their backs.

My cost-conscious husband laid down the law early --- our family would check only one bag, since the airline was demanding we now pay for it.  So I loaded our luggage up with all the baby accoutrements known to man --- onesies, blankets, bibs, burb cloths, sweaters, rattles, washclothes and bottles...

And stuff for the seven-year-old --- books, her own blanket, outfits, backup outfits and matching shoes, socks and ribbons.

I threw a few things for myself and ran out of space.  My husband had to pack a separate duffle bag for himself.

So how was the flight?  Surprisingly good!  The baby was peaceful, the seven-year-old read to herself and watched her DVD.  My husband and I congratulated ourselves on having such wonderful kids.

Sorry if you're gagging.  I can hardly believe it myself.

But for two busy people with barely a moment to spare.... I thank God that I've been blessed with such easygoing kids.

I can only hope they stay this way forever.

The first thing I thought about Tuesday night was my children.

And then I cried.

I couldn't help myself. I cried when it became clear that the nation would have its first black president.

Yes, I'm a journalist.  Yes, I'm fair and impartial in my reporting.

But I am also human.  So when it became clear that a black man had been elected president, I moved into a private corner of the room, and tears ran down my cheeks..

I cried because I am so happy that my elderly parents lived to see this day.

I cried because my own children now have a real life example that they can achieve anything they want in this world, regardless of race.

I cried because the United States and the world now have an example of a high profile black man who isn't a rapper, dancer, or thug.

I cried because this is a new day in America... and I'm so thrilled.

When Barack Obama is officially sworn in and starts to lead this country, we'll hold him accountable for everything he does or does not do.

But for now I'm going to enjoy this moment as a black woman witnessing a day I wasn't sure I'd ever live to see myself.

And for now, I'm just going to cry... tears of joy.