In perfect harmony
When I was a little girl, I loved the Coke commercial. If you didn’t grow up in the US in the 70s, you have good odds of not knowing it unless someone has worked to make you more culturally aware. Were I to see it now for the first time, I would jadedly dismiss it as crass commercialism. But I didn’t see it now. I saw it when I was four or five, and it flickered at me on the TV in our shag carpeted and paneled living room, and it was beautiful. All these people from all over the world holding candles and singing and giving away hope for free. We didn’t drink Coke because my dad liked Pepsi, but I honestly didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn about the soda. I loved the imagery, and the hope, and the foreignness of what I saw. I lived in a white, white world with nothing but farmers, and Cedar Rapids and Dubuque were BIG CITIES. This commercial was everything I hoped for in life: diversity, beauty, happiness, and the flattering glow of candlelight.
I just spent the last hour hunting down video and stories of Obama’s health care appearances today, and along the way I also stumbled into vitriol, and then I was on Facebook reading about people whose brothers had died and who needed hugs, and I thought about other friends who are sad and down, and then I thought about all the people I’ve seen in the past week with broken arms and legs (it’s been very odd–almost an epidemic) and the next thing I knew I was on Youtube hunting this down.
World, I am buying you a coke.