America married Barack Obama after a whirlwind courtship. We didn’t really know who this man was, but his tongue whispered such tender words of hope and change into our yearning ears, and he was just so unbearably gorgeous, that we couldn’t be bothered with the tough questions…we ignored his sundry and ethically problematic friends. There were rumors that he was not who he said he was, and concerns that he would lead us astray, but all our fears flew in the face of his all-glorious oratory. He told us not to be afraid, no matter what anyone said about him, and we listened. We shut our ears to all else but his precious intonations. We were mesmerized, enchanted, we felt righteous that we could elect this improbable candidate—this underdog. We would right all wrongs and injustices and show how colorblind we were by giving this man the highest seat in the land. We didn’t question his credentials, because when our worries rose like chime in our throats, we called those concerns racist and swallowed hard—we didn’t consider the arguments valid. In fact, we were not colorblind at all…

With the impetuous fire of youthful love, we followed our man to Vegas—to the little white chapel so we could sit with him in the little white house with the two kids and the new American dream. We brashly rented the limos and drank champagne, drunk on the wine of his promises. Such promises the world had never heard before! He was our man, our one and only, our new American hero with not a spot of blood on his sleeve. He was pure. He was our Solomon. He would end all war and meet our every need. He would provide for us. He promised…

But after the wine was drunk, and the honeymoon was over, what would be left? We had made history, but what kind of history would it prove to be? Some wondered, some questioned, but they were silenced—called shrill, judgmental, racist, bitter, clingers to God and guns, old-school, uneducated, unenlightened, greedy, biased, close-minded, non-progressive, fear mongers, opinionated…but they were not these things, they were just as patriotic as the rest of us, they simply had questions. They wanted to know who this man was—what all the pretty words added up to—was it a covering for his true intentions? Or had he really been re-born during his bid for our affections into a true patriot—a man challenged and made better by the effort of winning his Lady Love? They asked simple questions that deserved simple answers. Instead they got the angry, blinded backlash of youthful lovers, when reasoned wisdom questioned their choices.

Did we sell our futures to a sexy lover, or a dedicated and devoted—‘til death do us part’ kind of man? A man who would risk his life for us, stand up for us—or a man who would cave in the face of danger and sell us down the river into foreign waters…we didn’t ask the questions like we should have. We weren’t allowed to. Dissent was systematically eliminated and drowned out. And as a result, we didn’t get the answers we needed for a sober judgment. Let us hope that our blind lust did not deceive us.