The first half gave me chills. Partially from the amazing, dramatic video quality. Mostly, however, because it was real. Instead of a dramatic lead-in to a catastrophe movie, one with Will Smith in some kind of solitary hero role where his naked abs would at some point make an appearance, and at least one beautiful, buxom women would be soot- and tear-stained, this was life as we know it.
No mega-superstars. No low BMI female. Just us. Our life. Here. Now.
Then, the last half hit. And I couldn't help it, I cried. I did.
Now understand, I'm a bit weepy today. These things happen. Women cry. No further explanation is necessary, though there is one. But this video. My gosh. I actually felt hope. Yes. Hope. That sentiment we were promised from Obama and cruelly denied. (Though we didn't believe him. Well, many of us didn't.)
No, I felt the hope of America. That hereditary pioneerism. That hard work ethic and perseverance and American exceptionalism that looks at the worst of times and says, "Hell, no. This will not stand." And, instead, beats away the victimology and, when up against the mountain, digs a hole through it.
Does this mean I endorse Rick Perry? No. At least not yet. But I am wholly and most passionately endorsing an America where we are free to dream, to work for that dream, and to reap the rewards from that work.