Walking up 7th Street SW toward the Mall to get a better view, we could hear reverberations of America the Beautiful, and for the first time that day, but certainly not the last, my eyes welled up with tears.

Your guy. My guy. It all kind of fades to nothingness when you're standing in the thick of the United States of America, amid Americans, tried and true. And the rain is swirling all about and your toes ache from the cold. And simple imagery can form monument-sized lumps in your throat.

When I was in fifth grade, I surprisingly won my class's Best Citizen award. I remember fifth grade. I remember staying in during recess to help our team prepare for the math tournament. I remember learning mnemonic tricks to remember the states and capitals and sharing them with my friends. I remember taking up a collection to buy our teacher a new Raggedy Ann doll, our class mascot, when we found out she was moving to Florida at the end of the year.

That twelve-year-old girl handed a bleached certificate by her favorite teacher. Sometimes in the midst of flags and songs, I am that girl again. I am all of the hope and undaunted enthusiasm of an inaugural address. All of the pride of a miserably cold and incredibly diverse group of people standing in the rain, singing an impossible anthem.