Thursday, April 3, 2008

Donkey Kong Takes Hope and Change

Iowahawk has some lost excerpts from Barack Obama's Dreams of My Father.

It occurred to me that no matter their skin color, no matter their station in life, all humans have a deep-seated need to hog the Mortal Kombat machine. In that sense, the Kenyans at the arcade were no different that the white kids at the Galleria, although there were probably fewer Goths...

I dropped to the ground and swept my hand across the smooth, yellow tile of the grave. Oh, father, I cried, there was no shame in your confusion, just as there had been no shame in your confused father before you. No shameful silence in the fear, or the fear of the silent confused shame of his father before him. There was only shame in the confused silent fear it had produced in the silent confusion of your father's father's son's grandfathers. It was the silence that betrayed and confused and silenced us. If it weren’t for that silence, your betrayed grandfather might have told your confused father that he could never escape the silent betrayal himself, even with a power pill. Your father's father might have taught those same silent foosball lessons to you. And you, the son's uncle's cousin, might have taught your father's silent uncle that this new world that was confusing all of you involved more than just railroads and indoor toilets and Pong, lifeless instruments that could be absorbed into the old ways. You might have told him that these instruments carried with them a dangerous 110 volt power, that they demanded a different way of seeing the world, and 3-prong outlets, that this confusing power could be absorbed only alongside a silent faith born out of hardship, a shameless faith that wasn’t confusing, that wasn’t black or white or Christian or Muslim, or Nintendo or PS2, but that pulsed in the heart of the first African village, and the first Kansas homestead that got sucked up in a Tornado and dropped into a Technicolor Munchkinland.

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