On Election Day 2008, there was one thought that dominated my thinking: "America, prove me right."
It was a plea to my country to do what I thought it was going to do: Elect the first African-American president of the United States. It was a hope that white Americans would entrust the highest office in the land to a black man and, in so doing, allow our nation to take a major step forward in the jagged forward march to live up to our celebrated ideals.
That night, after it was official, I fled my office at The Washington Post and raced home, not looking at any of the overjoyed faces streaming the other way to the White House.