On the Street--At The Hairdresser

I take measure of what suburban women think at my hairdresser's. I don't mean the customers, who usually just complain--about their husbands, children, housekeepers, doctors, children's teachers-- or talk about plastic surgery, jewelry, or decorating. I mean the colorist who dyes my hair, the stylist who cuts it, and the manicurist whom I've known for twenty years. After many years of working with me, they know what to expect: we talk about politics, film, and more politics.

I started going to this salon just before the 2000 election. The colorist had never participated in an election before, so I helped her find information on the web, and although she knew I was a Gore fan, she decided for herself whom she would support for president. By 2004, she was pretty appalled by the Bush administration, but I seem to remember that she didn't actually vote. She had a newborn infant then. Kerry did that for novices. Gave them no reason to pick themselves up and inconvenience themselves to drop their routines and baby to go to some elementary school and stand on line to vote.

However, for this election, both the colorist and the hair stylist were engaged. We had many lively discussions about Hillary or Barack throughout the primary season.

They both were Hillary fans, having been impressed with her as First Lady and then New York State Senator.

Who was this Obama, anyway? However, they both voted for him, won over, like most of us were to the different spirit that he brings to politics.

With Tuesday's inauguration fresh on our minds, the hair stylist and I immediately fell into conversation about how exciting it was for the country, for white people as well as black, to have elected a first African American to the position. We both got teary-eyed as we spoke: reviewing Beyonce's serenade at the Neighborhood Inaugural Ball (why even Jon Stewart couldn't say anything cyncial about how beautifully in love Michelle and Barack looked as they danced while Beyonce sang "At Last"); the crowds on the Mall who withstood the cold to be a part of history; how well behaved Malia and Sasha were throughout all of these public events; and of course, what this means to us as a people to have elected this young, handsome, intelligent, creative bi-racial man.

She asked me what it felt like when JFK was elected. "Was everyone in love with him, too?"

I was in the seventh grade and surely I was. That was how I got hooked on politics, watching those afternoon press conferences: his wit, his charm, how he racked his fingers through that head of hair.

"And were you devastated when he was assassinated?"

The entire nation stopped. I was in biology class in the ninth grade when the news came over the public address system. We were let out early, and I almost ran home to get in front of the television set. Walter Cronkite, the most trusted broadcaster, cried along with us. My mother even let us eat snacks in her bedroom while our family--my father, mother, sister, and I--watched Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald, the assassination suspect, over and over again in the basement of the Dallas Police Department.

Then I spoke with the manicurist, whom I've known for twenty years. She and I are the same age, however, our stories are so very different. She was born Jewish in Russia, and came here in her twenties to start a new life. She spoke about how concerned she was that blacks as well as whites were treating Obama like some kind of messiah. She feels our expectations of the man are insane, far too enormous to do anything other than disappoint. (In a fabulously funny "commentary" on The Daily Show, John Oliver spoke with a German man on the Mall during the inauguration. "You have experience with charismatic leaders," he quipped.)

I agree with her: our expectations are insane. But then, I added something I feel deeply: For someone like me who isn't religious, these last months have taught me about the enormous power of hope.

And about that we both agreed.