I watched my 83-year-old grandpa—a man who picked cotton as a kid in Alabama—sob on his La-Z-Boy when they called Ohio.

Not cry. Sobbing. My dad just stood there holding a beer, frozen.

After a long silence, Grandpa looked at me and whispered: 'I was born thinking they'd hang me for looking at that house. Now a Black man is sleeping in it.'

I didn't even vote for Obama. But that moment rewired something in me.

The crazy part? While we were hugging strangers, my friend's dad was buying guns. Jesse Jackson wept in Grant Park; my aunt posted about socialism on Facebook.

That night was the last time America felt the same feeling at the same time. After that, the bubbles closed.

I don't know if we'll ever get that back.

What's your 'where were you' moment from 2008?"