Day one of the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte and my objectivity went out the window.
It's First Lady Michelle Obama's fault.
The First Lady spoke of her father's struggle with MS and how he worked every day to make sure she and her brother had a better life. This is when I got misty.
My father had a heart transplant during my freshman year of college. I remember the day he called my mother and told her that he'd been diagnosed congestive heart failure. Being the nosy child that I was (now a nosy adult), I stayed on the phone listening to my father calmly tell my mother that's why he'd been coughing.
My dad, an Army sergeant, has always been like Superman to me. He fought in Vietnam, has two Purple Hearts, this wasn't supposed to happen.
His condition worsened and he needed a heart transplant. My mother told me while they were at Walter Reed Hospital in DC, that he asked her for his checkbook because he had to pay my tuition.
Like the First Lady's father, my Dad didn't let his health stop him from allowing me to have a better life. My Daddy is my biggest fan. He's the one who gave me the tools I needed to write. He's the one who set HIGH expectations for me. His warning to me when I headed off to Johnson C. Smith University, "Bring home anything less than a 3.0 and I'm pulling you out of school and you're going to work at McDonalds."
He wasn't playing. And when I had a mid-term average of 2.954, I cried. Thankfully, JCSU had just stopped sending mid-term grades home.
I graduated with honors and the smile on my Dad's face when we posed for pictures after the ceremony was over told me how proud of me he was.
Knowing a woman like Michelle Obama has a story similar to mine makes me admire her even more than I did before.