Yes, we can.

This morning after unsuccessfully attempting to get some news about Ike (no internet and no cable at home post-Gustav makes that tough), B. and I decided to head to the store. First we stopped for coffee; he waited in the car. I walked into the coffee shop wearing this Obama shirt. I made conversation with a couple of employees and served myself a large half-cafe au lait, half-hot chocolate, paid for it, and went to the little coffee counter to mix my drink, put the top on the cup, and so forth. It was a pleasant morning so far, Ike worries notwithstanding. There were three men sitting at the table adjacent to the coffee counter.

"Barack Obama is good, huh?" one of them asked. I smiled, thinking they were just making friendly conversation with a stranger, as people around here, myself included, are wont to do. "Yes, I think so," I replied.

"I don't think he's good," he said. "Barack Obama scares the shit out of me." He said this is a loud, angry voice. I blinked for a moment, still smiling, and said, "Well, sir, this is America. We can disagree, and it's okay." I was very conscious about being as cordial and polite as possible, partly because I am brainwashed by Southern etiquette to respect my elders but mostly because I was not about to cop a 'tude while wearing a Barack Obama shirt. As dumb as it might sound, I am always very conscious about not displaying assholish behavior in public (impatience in Wal-Mart lines, honking my car horn at people who don't know how to do the four-way stop thing at our many still-powerless stop lights, etc.) when wearing one of my Obama shirts. I want to be a good ambassador in whatever small way I can. So I gave what I thought was a diplomatic, polite answer and prepared to be on my way.

Then he said, "You're not welcome in here." On the inside, I did a double take. Surely he could not have said that.

"I'm sorry," I said before I could stop myself, still smiling and polite, "Did you say I'm 'not welcome in here?'" I could feel my face start to get red and my hand start to shake as I stirred my coffee, but I tried to be steady. He and his friends hemmed and hawed and he denied saying it, still without wiping the scowl from his face, but it was in a way where he clearly had and it was obvious. I said, steeling that smile on my face with all the force I had within, "I'm just trying to get coffee here."

"Obama!" another man at the table sneered. "He's one step away from communism!" I stirred my coffee determinedly.

Then I said, "Y"all have a great day. It's been really nice talking to you," and though I wanted to say it sarcastically, I tried to say it nicely. I was just determined to be nice. I did not want them to see that they had upset me, and I surely did not want to reveal the bitchface that was now boiling beneath the surface. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do, but I just felt it was the best call I could make at the time.

As I turned and walked out, I felt the tears springing to my eyes and said a fast goodbye to the employee I normally would have hugged and chatted with a little longer. He looked a little confused and worried but I rushed to the car, by which point I was fully crying. B. was alarmed and promptly wanted to go back inside and "talk to them" (punch them out). But I figured that could have led to nothing good, so I just bawled in the parking lot for a few minutes to the point where I began sweating profusely and then composed myself. He said I need to get in touch with my mean side, but I said I couldn't, not when wearing my Obama shirt.

Here is the thing: I am very familiar with the playful, friendly (if often condescending) way that older men joke around with and rib younger women. It happens all the time, particularly in my work environment and just with men I encounter all the time in every day life. Normally I will go along with it even if it's sexist and rude because it's usually in a playful way and in a way that is so ingrained in our society that it feels easy to roll my eyes and let it roll off my back.

This was not that kind of encounter. It isn't even so much what they said as the way they said it. They weren't doing the "Ah, the folly of youth!" thing. These men weren't smiling, they weren't friendly, and they weren't doing that harmless joking/non-sexual sort of flirting that men of a certain age do with women of a certain age. They were acting with outright contempt. They were sneering. I'd say they were even snarling. They were like three mean, hateful, angry snakes. Their behavior was almost cartoonish. They were like villains in a cartoon, except they were right there in real life. It's shocking to me now, a few hours later, to think about the disgusted looks on their faces. The way they looked at me, like I was disgusting. Because of the name of the man on my shirt.

I called my mom, who made me feel much, much better. She wisely pointed out that confrontation is a risk you take when you wear a shirt advertising a candidate or a religion or whatever. She said, "I'd be taking a risk wearing a shirt with something about the Catholic church." Correct, and duly noted. She also said that it was three against one and they felt like they had the power in the situation because they were three older men and I was one younger woman. She said that made them feel "macho and cool" but that alone, each is "probably a little weenie." (These are direct quotes. I love the way my mother talks sometimes.) She said lots of people hate Obama and "some people hate George Bush." I said, "I really hate George Bush, Mom. I am counting the days until he leaves office. But I would never attack a stranger in public for wearing a Bush shirt!"

She said, "It was an attack. You were attacked for being who you are. They might as well have punched you in the stomach." I could have kissed her for saying that, for understanding that. She said there are plenty of McCain supporters who would "never, ever behave that way."

She said, "I think we should pray. Lord, we know you love those men -- even though they are an insult to humanity. Please help us not to let them exert any more power over us." I wish I could remember more of what she said, because it was truly classic. After this wisdom and prayerfulness, she said, "I really wish I could just get a gun and shoot them." I wanted to say, "Well, Mom, if the election goes your way ..." but I didn't. As for my dad, he asked me, "Who were they? What did they look like? Had you ever seen them before? Do you think they're regulars?" I think he wanted to go start a fight! It was very nice and dadly. Then he sighed and said, "They're idiots. We should pray for them." In case I haven't mentioned it lately, I love my parents a lot.

It was a small encounter, but it feels so much bigger to me. I think I sobbed both immediately following and when relating the story to my mother for many reasons. Because of the way that men treat women. Because I hated myself a little for not standing up for Obama and for myself. Because of the way white people treat black people and treat anyone who plans to vote for a black man. Because Obama "scares" people so much that they HATE him. What is scary about Barack Obama? I will never understand this. Because they actually behaved that way to a woman trying her hardest through gritted teeth to treat them with respect and fight back the tears at the coffee counter of the oldest, friendliest coffee shop in town, a place she's come with her family her whole life, a place where she's never felt anything but happy, welcomed, and safe and that they would actually mutter the words, "You are not welcome here." WTF-ing F? Seriously? I have made plenty of cracks about McCain and Palin, but I don't feel actual, visceral hate for them. (Wish I could say the same thing about GWB ... cannot.)

Most of all, I think I sobbed because it hit me like a ton of bricks that if these men's hate is multiplied by the thousands and millions that Obama could really, truly lose. And more than being treated rudely by a trio of assholes, more than living in a world where men are dickheads to women just because they think they can be, that is what truly breaks my heart about this situation. If they could muster up that much hate in a coffee shop while surrounded by the smell of beignets and the joyous sight of children practically inhaling powdered sugar -- what are people in the rest of America doing? What will they be able to pull off on November 4? I think that love is stronger than hate. If love were the deciding factor, I think the people who believe in Obama could love him right into office. That's how strong my love feels today.