Dear Barack,
I hope you don’t mind if I refer to you as Barack. Our journey together over these past eight years has been profound, and addressing you as Mr. President feels too formal. It’s hard to believe our shared time has come to an end. To say I will miss you is an understatement; if I were there, I might just hug your legs and plead for you to stay. However, I must face reality and let you move on, and you certainly deserve a moment of peace.
When I graduated from college in May 2008, I was burdened with debt and uncertainty. The recession loomed large, making job hunting feel hopeless. I was desperate for a leader. Your rise to the Democratic nomination brought me hope. When you declared, “Yes, we can,” I truly believed it. You became the beacon of hope I had been searching for.
Voting for you was a moment of immense pride for me. Standing in that school gym with my mother, I felt a swell of emotion knowing I was casting my ballot for the first black president of the United States. I had always thought I would be much older before witnessing that moment. Your appearance on stage in Chicago with Michelle, Sasha, and Malia brought tears to my eyes. I remember crying again when you took the oath of office, and once more that night as you and Michelle danced to “At Last.”
You faced immense adversity with dignity, especially from those who wished for your failure. Through the prejudices and challenges, you and Michelle remained composed, like two elegant swans gliding through a storm. I often find myself asking, WWOD (What Would Obama Do)? It’s a mantra that helps me navigate tough moments. You had the monumental task of reviving a struggling economy, and while I wish you could have alleviated student loan debt, I understand the constraints you faced.
Gradually, things began to improve. I secured a job, but it meant sacrificing my aspirations of being a working actor as I focused on financial stability. I vividly remember the night the Navy Seals took down Bin Laden; as a New Yorker, that moment was especially poignant. It felt like a turning point for your presidency. By the time the 2012 election rolled around, I had complete faith in your victory. The Republican opposition tried to undermine you, but we stood strong. I celebrated when California’s results sealed your win.
Your second term was filled with both sorrow and triumph. We shared tears over tragedies like school shootings and the unjust deaths of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, and Michael Brown. I often wondered why the cries for justice went unheard. Yet, we also celebrated significant milestones together, like the announcement of the Affordable Care Act and the victory for marriage equality. Though the road was rocky, your steadfastness never wavered.
Thank you for championing the arts and infusing the White House with culture and music. You hosted unforgettable events and were never shy about dancing. Your support for artists, such as Lin Manuel Miranda during the early days of Hamilton, was invaluable. You ensured that the contributions of black artists were recognized and celebrated.
Perhaps most importantly, thank you for being a devoted husband and father. Your open love for Michelle set a standard for relationships, and your admiration for your daughters inspired many to aspire for better parenting.
I now have a son who shares some similarities with you; he is also of mixed race, being raised by a single mother. Although he may not remember your presidency, I’ll tell him your story. If you could achieve greatness, so can he. Thank you for everything.
With love and admiration,
Jasmine Carter