As you might imagine, I’m deliriously happy today. As I was putting my older son to sleep last night, I had just heard about Ohio. I explained to the boy that Obama was going to win the election and become the first African-American President of the United States. The boy looked up at me, eyes filled with wonder, as one’s kids will on occasion, and said, “Really? The first? How can that be?” My son will grow up in a different country than I did, a country where more things seem possible, where more things are possible.

The boy woke up today, left his bed, and stepped into his world of new possibilities. He marched into my bedroom and inquired about the election. I told him that Obama had won. He then asked about Proposition 8. I told him that it passed, that a majority of Californians chose to annul the marriages of several of his cousins and the parents of two of his good friends. He didn’t say, “Really? How can that be?” But he was upset — even after I explained that the arc of the moral universe is long, but that it bends toward justice.

He’s off to school now, and I’m left feeling like I should have worked harder against Proposition 8, like I should have spent more time phonebanking, should have raised more money. I’m ashamed that I was so overconfident, so sure that the day of justice was finally at hand. My son takes immeasurable comfort in his parents’ marriage. His little cousins, his friends from school, the people he knows who will be most directly affected by Prop 8, awoke today into a world without that comfort. The arc of the moral universe feels unbearably long right now, even as a I celebrate President-elect Obama.