This is the question I asked Barack Obama in 2004 shortly after his historic speech at the Democratic Convention in Boston as he entered a massive party in his honor after that momentous day of conventioneering.
"It's good," he said quietly.
Basking in the euphoric aftermath of his speech tonight as America's first Black presidential nominee, that's about all I can muster right about now.
Then State Senator Obama followed his short reply with "How are your folks doing?"
Well, tonight, I know my mother's overjoyed, who -- along with my late father -- was an early supporter of pre-iconic Obama who represented the senatorial district where my brother Maurice and I grew up in Hyde Park on the near south side of Chicago.
My brother and I come from mixed parentage: our mother's from Baltimore, Maryland, and our father was from Louisville, Kentucky. Separated by 13 years, my parents, who were born into Jim Crow America, were brought together by an abiding love, deep friendship and family cultures that valued public service, education, and an unwavering commitment to racial justice.
My father lived to see State Senator Obama become U.S. Senator Obama. But having died of lung cancer in 2005, he predeceased Senator Obama's ascendancy to presidential nominee -- something I know he would have regaled this feat in his own quiet way. After all, my mother would often opine that her husband always saw himself as that Colored boy from Depression Era-Kentucky.
As the applause crescendoed and the floor vibrated from the stomping feet of tens of thousands of people who stood in 3-mile-long lines to witness history tonight, my usual cynism dissipated to embrace the moment -- a moment I did not truly believe I would see in my lifetime.
It is true, I did remark about an Obama presidency shortly after his 2004 convention speech, but I can honestly say that in my heart of hearts I didn't think it was truly possible that he could be elected president or win the Democratic nomination. I was wrong. So very wrong.
I suspect by the time the wheels hit the tarmac in Philadelphia, my cynism will return about what this country's electorate will unfold for this country in November. But in this moment -- in the solitude of an emptied suite overlooking workers breaking down the chairs and stage and such on Invesco Field, I am content. I am proud. I am emboldened -- not just by the inspiring words of Barack Obama, but by the collective battles fought by pioneers such as Shirley Chisolm and Jesse Jackson, Sr. -- and lesser know souls like Jewel Miller Rabb, Maurice F. Rabb, Sr., Madeline Wheeler Murphy and William H. Murphy, Sr., my late grandparents who were not alive to see the fruits of their labors in this regard, but nevertheless died knowing that they set the stage for ever-expanding opportunity for their descendants and all Americans regardless of color or creed.
Tonight my thoughts are with my ancestors without whom I would not be in Denver and experiencing this moment with the privileges with which I have been so richly blessed.
And it feels good.