"I can do this job, I said to myself. Have this whole damn town organized by the time we're through. I lit a cigarette and, in my self-congratulatory mood, imagined taking the leadership downtown to sit down with Harold and discuss the fate of the city. Then, under a streetlight a few feet away, I saw the drunk from the meeting spinning around in slow circles, looking down at his elongated shadow. I got out of my car and asked him if he needed some help getting home.
'I don't need no help!' he shouted, trying to steady himself. 'not from nobody, you understand me! Punk-ass motherfucker... try to tell me shit...' "

Barack Obama, Dreams from my Father

This is how I feel every time I deal with Darrian... any "puffing up" is short-lived, as there is always something soon after that makes me wonder if I have done any good, or even have the potential to do any good.

And any good that I do, any love that I seek to give, seems meaningless when I bring him back home and watch him sink back into the life that will most likely never change for him. The life that tells him that he can never amount to more than those around him.

But maybe someday, he could look at the television and see a president that looks a little like him. Maybe he could believe that he could do something, just like this man has. That he could actually go to school and be a vet and care for animals the way he desires to so badly... that this future is actually a possibility to him.

Maybe this man, with his eyes clearly focused on reality, but his heart still brimming with hope, could really make a change that we can believe in... maybe he could really bring hope to places where hope seems so very hopeless.

I want to believe in this. And I am believing it. On March 4th, I will vote believing it. Not just for me, but for Darrian too.