I’m allowed…..to be proud?

To begin, I would like to thank all who made this conference possible. Attending a convention is an exciting experience. Having been nominated to attend my union’s convention; was an empowering experience.

From the beginning, at the hotel where I stayed, I was greeted by a union employee.

Shield_notype_BLACKIt began to swell, my pride and the notion that every employee I would come in contact with was union. I had checked in, unpacked and met up with my fellow delegates. We boarded the rail, and headed toward the San Jose Convention Center. I had successfully completed phase one.

Phase two was not unlike the first. I needed to check in at the convention. It was clear the convention was under way by Sunday afternoon, before it had begun. The convention center is quite large, yet it was easy to find our space. It was quite clear the CSEA had arrived and was well announced. I remained at the convention center, with my issued supplies and blue shirt. I remained so thatI could take part in christening the convention with food, song and dance. It was a celebration of pride.

Monday morning initiated phase three. It was time for the convention itself. It was evident that one had arrived at the correct place and time. Despite the multitudes of both people and dress; one needed only to squint, and a sea of yellow lanyards and badges appeared. Along with my fellow delegates, I waded through this sea of fellowship. There were rows and columns of tables before me, an observation section to the left and to the right the place where business was initiated. That was where the board and President Feckner were. Along with my fellow delegates, we had arrived at our designated place.

We sat next to our fellow, area and region, brothers and sisters.

The hall began to fill with bodies, and an energy level to match. In any direction one

chose to look, people were greeting each other. Some, old friends that greeted each other,

they had acknowledged that the year had been to long. That each other’s company had been sorely missed. Yet, others picked up conversations as if Vegas had only been last week.

Something fun happens on Monday morning ( I kid you not, Mon. morning ). Amongst that sea of handshakes and yellow lanyards were the red buoys that were the new delegates. They wore their red ribbons with pride. New delegates wander and wonder about. Fear not for there was a trail of buttercups to lead them home.

“Buttercups?” you ask. Well, these “buttercups” are individuals who don yellow shirts and shepherd new delegates along with the seasoned ones. ( odd how the seasoned ones gain the most attention ) Our buttercups helped in other ways as well. Varied from simply being visible, checking for ID, vocalized directions, to “pom-pom” Korky. ( Korky has a great smile “and a show!”)

That Monday morning we had what we needed; seated delegates, board members, a president and the gavel he sent into motion.

By an anonymous 293 Delegate

The author claims ” Poetic Verse/ Artistic License” with all regards to grammatical structure.”