Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize....It's a good thing.

Over the weekend a big topic of conversations I've had, watched on television, overheard or read, has been Obama and his recent Nobel Peace Prize (NPP). Either folks are ecstatic and proud, or dumbfounded and critical. Some are even a bit of both- as strange as that may seem.

I got the news early that Friday morning while walking around the Mountain Park track with my kids, via text from my adopted sister, Marisa. I will admit that I thought she was joking around, and texted her back with "Huh? Why?" She responded with "Because he is the ish." (Note: The "ish" is a nice way of not typing out the s-h-you-know-what word.) She also texted that "the board in Switzerland voted and that he exemplified the need to encourage world peace." As I read that, I said. "OK...so he got it for the world peace he is about to encourage? Interesting.

Now, I love me some Barack Obama. But, I was having a hard time with this...at that moment. I mean, when you think of the NPP, you think of MLK Jr...especially if you are African-American. And we all know what HE did to earn it. Could I put my main man Barry in the same category as MLK Jr.? Not really...at that moment.

The kids and I headed home, had breakfast, and got on with our day (they were out of school). I sat down and gave it some thought...trying to figure out why, out of all of the qualified nominees, was our President Obama chosen? I thought about what he meant to me, my family, and America. I thought about the effect he's had on repairing and strengthening our country, and how he has given us a "makeover". He's slowly helping us to regain credibility. He and his administration have shown his fellow world leaders that America is becoming united again, and that he is willing to do what it takes to continue nurturing that unity. America is no longer the laughing stock it once was. With all of this comes power, but also a sense of calm...and peace. As the Leader of the Free World, Obama has set the tone for peace now, and in the future. I went online and read the Norwegian Nobel Committee's statement expressing their reasons for the choice made...and posted some of the comments below:

"The Nobel committee recognized Obama's efforts at dialogue to solve complex global problems, including working toward a world free of nuclear weapons. "Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future," the committee said. Thorbjorn Jagland (Nobel Committee chariman) said the decision was "unanimous" and came with ease." (from cnn.com/europe)

That's it. I was convinced, and extremely proud. I loved it that even he was shocked, and he even questioned his qualifications for this prestigious honor. But you know, I wouldn't have expected anything else from such a great, humble man.

His critics are having a field day, of course. Right, left, you name it. You'd think that Obama paid someone under the table to score the award, with some of the comments being made. One online report joked that Obama should get the NPP for Chemistry because "he's just got great chemistry"...ha ha. But, as many of us have known before and since January 20, 2009, the road was going to be a quite bumpy...and the "haters" are going to grasp onto anything they can to put Obama in a bad light.

Of course, few can put words together more eloquently than Barack himself, so I will end this by posting his response to becoming a Nobel laureate...and the the 3rd sitting U.S. President in history to receive such an honor.

This morning, Michelle and I awoke to some surprising and humbling news. At 6 a.m., we received word that I'd been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2009.

To be honest, I do not feel that I deserve to be in the company of so many of the transformative figures who've been honored by this prize -- men and women who've inspired me and inspired the entire world through their courageous pursuit of peace.

But I also know that throughout history the Nobel Peace Prize has not just been used to honor specific achievement; it's also been used as a means to give momentum to a set of causes.

That is why I've said that I will accept this award as a call to action, a call for all nations and all peoples to confront the common challenges of the 21st century. These challenges won't all be met during my presidency, or even my lifetime. But I know these challenges can be met so long as it's recognized that they will not be met by one person or one nation alone.

This award -- and the call to action that comes with it -- does not belong simply to me or my administration; it belongs to all people around the world who have fought for justice and for peace. And most of all, it belongs to you, the men and women of America, who have dared to hope and have worked so hard to make our world a little better.

So today we humbly recommit to the important work that we've begun together. I'm grateful that you've stood with me thus far, and I'm honored to continue our vital work in the years to come.

Thank you,

President Barack Obama

'Nuff said. Obama is the ish. How can you NOT be proud to be an American right now??

William "Tony" Draper..."Pops"

Pops and me, 1985

So the new thing in the Draper clan is to have a blog, so I am jumping in with my peeps...and particularly to share an experience I had yesterday, which was also my father's 66th birthday. William Ralph Draper, Sr. was born in Birmingham, Alabama on October 8, 1943. The 4th son of 7, the 7th child of 11. The first college graduate in his family, a great Tuskegee Man. My father, My Hero. Everyone calls him "Tony", a nickname bestowed upon him as a child. These days, I call him "T-Tone" or "Pops".

I had a late day in the office, The Village Vets of Decatur, where my daytime shift blended into the emergency hours at another one of my practices, Animal Emergency Center of Decatur. While there, I met a woman who'd brought her dog there for what was fortunately a minor issue. She informed me that she'd decided to come to my business based on my positive reputation. She told me she'd heard so many good things about my practice and me...very powerful words she shared that made me very proud. Then, she referred to me in a term that I'd never heard attached to me before...she called me "a Decatur icon." Wow...deep. I am sure I was blushing, though that's not easy to see with my dark complexion.

"Decatur icon." That was something else. I am lots of things, but I've not quite gotten to the point of being considered an "icon" of any sort. I'm 42...well, almost 43 years old, and been a practicing veterinarian for 18-plus years. I've been practicing in Decatur for the last 8 of those. While I am surely one of my biggest fans, I would never agree to iconic status- in Decatur. Maybe Tuskegee...and infamously at that:). But Decatur? There are certainly Decatur icons...the first and foremost that comes to mind is Mayor Emerita Elizabeth Wilson...one of the greatest individuals I've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm certainly no Elizabeth Wilson...maybe some day, but I have a long way to go. However, as I may have thought this, I did not express it to the nice lady who bestowed the compliment on me. I simply thanked her for the kind words, finished up my work, gathered my belongings, and headed home towards Lilburn.

As is common with my drive to or from work, my mind was working. The main topic- this "Decatur icon" thing. As I considered the label, I decided that it just meant that I was doing something right. It had less to do with my veterinary or business skills, but more with my personal, people skills. It was further evidence that, as a college friends mother once told me some 20 years ago, that I "was raised right." It was a testament to my parents, who are the greatest people in the world. I started to think of how much they'd done for me, how many contributions they'd made for not only my sisters and me, but others' children, my children, and so many others. Before I knew it, I was driving east on Highway 78, sobbing like a baby. I mean sloppy, snotty crying.

Pops and me, 1968

Now, those who know me well know this is not unusual. I'm a sensitive man...strong, but sensitive. I'll cry if the emotion comes to me, and have never felt that my gender restricted me from such. I'm a crier. But, today was a bit different...it was my father's 66th birthday. It was not the first time I'd cried on Highway 78 that day...I'd also cried while westbound that morning. I was thinking about my father reaching 66, and wondering how he felt when he woke up that morning. While he was on the west coast and 3 hours behind me, one thing I knew for sure- he felt great. He woke up like he did everyday that I could remember- ready to conquer the world and anything that got in his way. When I think about the strength and resolve of my father, it always makes me feel warm and strong...but it is generally followed by the thought that one day, if I'm fortunate to live to see my 60s and 70s (or, at the rate he's going, my 80s and 90s), there will be a day when he'll be gone. Then the tears and sobbing soon follow. I'm almost always alone, in my car, when this happens...and it happened this October 8th on my way to work, and then again on the way home. The reasons were different, but with a common subject. The westbound cry was more of a pending sorrow, but the eastbound cry one of happiness and pride.


So I'm heading east, "sloppy as a soup sandwich", as my father would say. So, as I've done more recently in the last few years, I called My Hero. We'd talked earlier in the day when I called with birthday wishes, and as usual talked long enough for both of us to realize how much everyday makes me grow into another version of my father (and I think we both love it, most of the time). I called to share with him my "Decatur icon story"...I knew he'd want to hear it (He, along with my mother, is certainly one of my biggest fans). Once I said "icon", however, my voice crackled, and the real crying started. My father Tony has known me a long time, so he knew what was going on on the other end of the line. He and I talked, cried (well, I cried), and just took some time to let each other know how great we felt the other one was. I thanked him about 50 times for sticking it out with me, for making me hate him as a child, for being the "meanest man in the world", for not trying to be my friend growing up, for making me know the rules, for punishing me for breaking the rules (as promised), for protecting me when I'd been wronged, for not protecting me when I was wrong...for raising a man. He told me how proud he was to be my father...and I told him that I was sure his father, William Henry Draper, was as proud of him. it was a great conversation- and by the time I'd hung up I'd gotten myself together, and made it home in one piece.

Again, he was there to listen to me, to guide me, and let me know all was well. Thanks, Pops. You are MY icon...and you've certainly earned it.

Pops and me, 2008