Catherine Serio: The road to the inauguration was risky for many

After Barack Obama's victory, my father called me from North Carolina to share good news: Virginia had gone for Obama. The former Capital of the Confederacy, his birthplace, had given its electoral votes to America's first African-American president. After I hung up, I decided I would take my father to Obama's inauguration.

People doubted me. They said it would be too crowded and cold for a frail 78-year-old man in a wheelchair. They said we wouldn't get tickets. They said we'd be at risk for terrorism.

Taking my father to D.C. would be an improbable journey, just like Obama's campaign. My father has too many physical problems to travel - bladder cancer, heart failure and diabetes to name a few. Plus, the district's hotels were sold out, and the odds of getting a ticket were astronomical. I ignored the odds. My dad's vote still counted. He deserved to go.

My father was born in rural Virginia in 1930, 10 months after the stock market collapsed. When he was four, he witnessed the lynching of a black man. Racist actions and comments colored his whole life as a southern child. As a man, he gave voice to injustice through his career as a writer and human rights activist.

After Obama announced his candidacy in 2007, my father joined the campaign online. He committed a monthly donation of $25 - a huge sum for a man living on $600 a month of Social Security.

I wrote every member of Congress and told them my dad's story. When hearing that Congressman Simpson got us three tickets, I called my brother, Charley, and asked him to join us. At six feet, Charley is strong enough to get a heavy wheelchair through a million people. We flew to North Carolina, loaded my father in the car, and headed north. The wheelchair, six suitcases, and two medicine bags barely fit into the rental car trunk.

It was 11 degrees on inauguration morning. We got my dad tucked in the wheelchair under three blankets and headed for the National Mall. Once there, we found the "silver ticket" line with no end in sight. It took 45 minutes and 11 city blocks to reach the end of the line. My dad said his hands hurt from the cold. I gave him hand warmers for his gloves. "How'd you know about these?" he asked. "Skiing in Idaho," I said.

Somehow, we found the handicap section our silver tickets entitled us to. It was full. There was no security checkpoint. Barricades had been knocked over by un-ticketed spectators. My brother pushed my dad toward the railing bordering the reflecting pool, but his view was blocked.

A police officer came to my dad's assistance and cleared the people from the railing to allow the wheelchair access. My dad had a perfect view of the entire ceremony. During President Obama's swearing-in, two African-Americans lifted my father from his chair. Surrendering his weight to these kind strangers, he stood with pride and watched the peaceful transfer of power.

The road to Obama's inauguration was improbable for many people, not only the candidate. It was an outrageous, even dangerous, road for an old son of the South like my dad. But in America, every citizen has a vote. And every vote still counts - be it from the elderly, the frail, the poor, the nonwhite. I celebrated our democracy in 11-degree weather with my father Jan. 20.

I am full of hope for America again.

Dr. Catherine Serio is a clinical psychologist in Boise.