Experiencing the Inauguration

When I woke up on January 20, 2009, it reminded me very much of January 19, 2009. Snow fell gently to the ground outside my window, just as it had all night and much of the day before. Eastern students went to class, and I had my daily bowl of generic Cocoa Puffs and Yoo-Hoo.

It wasn't until I turned on the television that I remembered that January 20 was a much more significant day for America than January 19 had been.

To be honest, I wasn't anxious, excited or apprehensive about the inauguration of Barack Obama. I continued to eat my Cocoa Puffs and wondered why CNN felt the need to inform me of the detailed procedures the "presidential movers" would take as they moved George Bush's belongings out of the White House and Barack Obama's in.

I wasn't trying to be a Grinch, but I've never been one for pomp and circumstance. The inauguration "ceremony" coverage seemed rife with it.

I knew the gist of the event: A fleet of cars would drive Obama and a whole bunch of other lawmakers (and former lawmakers) from the White House to the Capitol building. That's where Joe Biden and Barack Obama would take turns reciting their oaths of office.

The oaths would take a minute and a half each. The ceremony would take hours. The coverage had lasted for days.

It all seemed a little over-the-top for my taste, but I understood the significance of the event. I had some appreciation for what would take place.

As I put on my jacket and braved the cold, I made one of the best decisions I have made in college: I went to the library to watch the ceremony.

Libraries are places for sharing knowledge and opinions. They are a haven within the haven of college campuses: temples for those who value the freedom of expression.

I thought it only appropriate that I watch history unfold in a place that represented the immortality of ideas and beliefs.

Had I watched the event in my dorm, it would have been lost on me. It largely happened as I had suspected it would. The inauguration was drawn out, elaborate and complete with a cheesy, sporting-event-esque announcer. The ceremony was just too glamorous to mean anything to me.

And yet, when I walked to class afterward, I was so affected.

It wasn't the ceremony; it was the people.

The estimated 1.5 million people who poured into Washington, D.C., stood for hours in below-zero temperatures and filled the National Mall to the point of overflowing affected me.

The hundred or so students who had paused their lives in the lobby of the library alone and stared, captivated by what they were seeing, affected me.

As Obama addressed the nation for the very first time as president of the United States, we were all ears.

Americans from all walks of life were frozen in place, hanging on every word, understanding that what was said then would likely be remembered for generations.

All around me in the library, black students knew it. White students knew it, too. Students from all backgrounds and majors stood shoulder to shoulder while Obama addressed them.

So did the people in D.C. as their faces appeared on the televisions. The same was true for the people shown in New York City, and for those in Chicago and Los Angeles and everywhere in between.

The nation became a single, captive audience, and it was an incredible sight.

That is what affected me.

Anyone who stood comfortably beside strangers, gazing intently at a television, will remember that moment. They will remember that moment when the nation stood still.

Barack Obama had been America's commander-in-chief for less than five minutes when he first achieved some semblance of unity.