David Alan Grier - Barack Like Me: The Chocolate-Covered Truth

Like Me

The Chocolate-Covered Truth

DAVID ALAN GRIER

with Alan Eisenstock

A TOUCHSTONE BOOK

Published by Simon & Schuster

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Touchstone
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Copyright 2009 by David Alan Grier

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First Touchstone hardcover edition October 2009

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Grier, David Alan
Barack like me: the chocolate covered truth / David Alan Grier with Alan Eisenstock.
p. cm.
A Touchstone book.
1. Grier, David Alan, 1955 June 30 2. African American comediansBiography.
3. Grier, David Alan, 1955 June 30 Political and social views. 4. United States Race relationsPolitical aspects. 5. United StatesSocial conditions21st century.
6. African AmericansRace identityPolitical aspects. 7. African AmericansSocial conditions21st century. I. Eisenstock, Alan. II. Title.
PN2287.G695A3 2009
792.7028092dc22
[B]
2009018703

ISBN 978-1-4391-5492-2
ISBN 978-1-4391-6497-6 (ebook)

To the love of my life,

my darling daughter Lulu

1
S ECRETARY OF M IRTH

2
B EIGE I S THE N EW B LACK

3
R OYALTY AND H OLINESS

4
T HE E NVELOPE, P LEASE

5
P UBLIC T HERAPY

6
D EATH OF THE A NGRY B LACK M AN

7
H OUSE B URNING D OWN

8
P URPLE H AZE

9
HIGH S CHOOL

10
T HE S ECRET TO M ARRIAGE

11
P URPLE C RUSH

12
H ATED I T!

13
T HE M OMENT

14
T HE S EVENTY - TWO -H OUR R ULE

15
DWTS D IARY

16
T HIS I S G ONNA E ND B ADLY

Ray Charles said the secret to life is timing. He was right on, especially when it comes to writing a book. When I handed in this book back in April 2009, Barack Obama was riding high and I was a happily married man.

Now its more than six months later. Baracks approval ratings have fallen and so have mine.

Sadly, my wife and I are in the process of divorcing. Everything I wrote in Barack Like Me happened. Everything I said and felt was the truth at the time. I am amazed at how life constantly hits you with surprises, changes, and challenges. Im even more amazed at our ability to survive and bounce back.

Enjoy my book. Its real!

Like Me

1
SECRETARY OF MIRTH

Yes, we can!

And yes, we did.

We won!

January 2009. Going on two and a half months now and they havent taken it back.

I still dont trust it. Every morning when I wake up I check and double-check. I need confirmation.

First thing I do is blink a couple of times to make sure Im not dreaming. I lean over and kiss my wife, Christine, kiss and nuzzle my daughter, Luisa, check myself, see if Im alive, yep, got all my parts, turn on CNN and NPR at the same time, even flip to Fox News, and yesconfirmits still true.

Barack Obama is president of the United States.

It really happened.

Elected in a landslide, too. Over 69 million people voted for him, poked that chad, popped that cherry. Sixty-nine million people.

Incredible. Amazing. Historic.

True.

And here we are, Christine and I, invited guests to the Purple Ball on Inauguration Day, slammed up against the stage in this hangar-sized ballroom, purple neon strobe light stabbing our eyes, a throng of people mashed up against us, waiting for President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle to arrive.

I admit it. I am in awe of this man. Today he will speak and dance at ten inaugural balls. Ten. Tomorrow hell be up at 5:00 a.m. to start his presidency. He promises to hit the ground running. Are you serious? I wouldnt have gotten out of bed for three days.

A black president. Can you get your head around that? Weve had black presidents before, but only on television and in the movies. And the moment a black guy becomes president, the world is about to end. Like in the movie Deep Impact, President Morgan Freeman doesnt merely inherit the worst economic crisis in a century. No. That would be too easy. He inherits an asteroid flying through space about to blow up the earth.

In the back of my mind, I worry that Barack Obamas presidency is doomed to fail. A young guy I spoke to on the street in New York said it best: Its obviously a plot. Its rigged.

I keep hearing those words: its rigged. Meaning that the only way that America elected a black man is because stuff is so fucked up, nobody can solve the problems. They put the brotha in to fail. And when he fails, theyll say, See? We told you, and its back to business as usual. Well be lucky if a black guy gets elected president of the NAACP.

At the Purple Ball, my attention turns to a commotion from somewhere behind the stage. I hear urgent whispers and voices crackling through walkie-talkies, music suddenly blares, cranked up, and screaming, cheering, and applause from the hundreds of people behind me pound me like a thunderclap, and I gasp, I literally gasp, a lump rises in my throat, and appearing through what seems like the blue light of a camera flash, Barack Obama, the president of the United States of America, our president, walks out from the wings, in the words of Stuart Scott on ESPN, as cool as the other side of the pillow, strolling hand in hand with the First Lady, Michelle Obama, who in person, Im telling you, is so beautiful she weakens my knees.

They bow slightly, like royalty, and then they clap, for us. They are both smiling. Grinning, really. But these are not triumphant smiles. They are modest smiles, smiles of acceptance, smiles of thanks.

Barack wears a black tuxedo. He looks thin and fit, taller than youd think, his hoop players frame tucked into his tux sharp and taut. He would look cool in anythingtuxedo, sweat suit, bathrobe, toga, it wouldnt matter.