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Hello, Chicago! All right. A familiar feeling that has been buried too deep for far too long. The anticipation, the energy, the exhilaration of once again being on the cusp of a brighter day. The chance to vanquish the demons of fear, division and hate that have consumed us and continue pursuing the unfinished promise of this great nation, the dream that our parents and grandparents fought and died and sacrificed for.
But to be honest, I am realizing that, until recently, I have mourned the dimming of that hope. And for me, that mourning has also been mixed with my own personal grief. The last time I was here in my hometown was to memorialize my mother — the woman who showed me the meaning of hard work and humility and decency, the woman who set my moral compass high and showed me the power of my own voice.
Folks, I still feel her loss so profoundly. And to remind us all not to squander the sacrifices our elders made to give us a better future. You see, my mom, in her steady, quiet way, lived out that striving sense of hope every single day of her life. She believed that all children, all — all people have value. That anyone can succeed if given the opportunity.
She and my father did not aspire to be wealthy. In fact, they were suspicious of folks who took more than they needed. So, my mother volunteered at the local school. She — she always looked out for the other kids on the block.
