There's Never A Right Time To Say Goodbye, President Obama...

Original Huffington Post article here.

Dear President Obama,

I was 14 years old when I rebelliously wore my bright yellow “Yes We Can” T-shirt to class to deliberately vex my Algebra II/Trig teacher who was proud to be a Republican, I mean American.

I was 15 years old when you were first elected to office — and I can still remember exactly where I was to this day. And although, I wasn’t old enough to vote until it came time for you to be re-elected in 2012, I couldn’t be more excited. I mean, how many people can say President Obama was their first?

Okay, wait. Let me back up just a bit before Michelle, who in my head is my other mother, sends for me.

I am now 22 going on 23, and not to sound like the stereotypical millennial — this truly has been such a difficult year for me, not just because of the usual woes that follow graduation; but because I’ve been trying to come to terms with the fact that your term is coming to an end. I know there’s never a right time to say goodbye, but to be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

After my family and I gathered around our television to watch an incredibly moving Democratic National Convention from 5pm until way past my parents’ bedtime that entire week... And hearing you deliver a speech that brought me to actual tears that Wednesday evening, it was then I realized… This is the last time you would speak at a DNC as my sitting president. And I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Needless to say, I am writing this letter in hopes of sorting out my emotions so I don’t become stuck in the past like he who shall not be named.

But I think the reason it is so challenging for me to let go is because you and your family stepped foot into The White House around the same time that I really began to grow into the person I was always meant to be.

You see, at the age of 14, I was gradually becoming conscious of my mental growth and political aptitude. I was fortunately afforded the chance to explore my progressive nature, and what it meant to “bleed blue.” Between AP Government classes and simply getting a glimpse of different cliques, separated by beliefs, color, orientation, and interests, I kind of had to learn where I wanted to fit in, if at all. Even if that meant sitting in a bathroom stall for lunch (somedays, it really felt like I was living out Mean Girls and my best friends tease me for being so dramatic to this day).

But then you came along… with not a mean bone in your body, and a timeless stride we can never forget. A talk so smooth and a heart full of hope that was contagious... That single-handedly made all of America want to walk in your footsteps. In your image…

To be better. To do better.

I no longer felt the need to assimilate. You taught us that our differences are what makes us so great. That no one of us are the same, and still… We rise [together]

You came at a time where we needed to be reminded that our black excellence actually meant something. Could amount to something.

That God dwells in the homes of our hearts.

For we had been so bogged down with gloom and doom from the previous administration; we didn’t think that there ever would be a light at the end of the tunnel.

And then you smiled that brilliant smile.

You and your beautiful family grew with me and mine. (Did I mention I appointed myself to be the honorary chair of Michelle Obama Hive? …I told you, I don’t want to let go).

My dad actually is about your age. I remember entering high school and my dad’s hair was barely salt and peppered. Now, eight years later, its simply gray. Totally and completely gray. He’s a mailman in Arlington, VA, an old city, with lots of hills and long, steep steps that he has to walk in the rain, heat, ice, and snow. And like you, he walks with grace, always armed with a smile. And maybe its because of me, that he’s so gray. Taking care of his children will do that to a man, you know? *winks*

14 year olds, for whatever reason, think they’re only ones getting older and that their parents stay the same age. That they will always be youthful enough to tell you to be in by 11:00pm; or that you can’t talk to boys on the phone; or no cell phone until 10th grade (Yes, all of these things happened — as I am sure did with Sasha and Malia) …That we don’t realize, they, too, are aging right before our eyes.

Admittedly, I know its selfish of me to not want you and your family to leave, and to pray that somehow Father Time can push back January 20, 2017 a few more years (preferably decades). Especially when I think of how badly you all must yearn for your freedom. You've been taking care of all of your children for the past eight years.

And then I get sad all over again. Thinking about all that you’ve sacrificed. All the times you’ve compromised your own values, all the times you’ve bitten your tongue because #whiteprivilege dominated that Congress of ours. All the verbal abuse you must’ve endured. That even as president, you still had to work twice as hard. To get their respect. When truthfully, they didn’t deserve it to begin with.

“We The People” became us versus them.

There’s so much you have yet to accomplish, not because you didn’t want to or didn’t try; but because there were people with so much hate saturating their hearts, they would rather compromise the future of this country for the sake of their ego. And it makes my heart ache when I think about the obstacles you woke up to every morning, in The White House that was built by slaves, as Mom so eloquently reminded us Day 1 of the DNC. All because that beautiful melanin lining your skin makes the blood of white supremacists — that somehow ambushed their way into positions of leadership — just boil uncontrollably.

& Then there’s some of us… who look like you and me… who still don’t seem to be satisfied with what you’ve done. That feel you didn’t do enough for us. And still don’t respect you. And it hurts.

Because I know you did it for the greater good… For us.

I’ve seen you hurt. Heck, we all have, as we sat in front of our TVs many nights, watching you carry the weight of the nation on your shoulders like Hercules. On top of already having to work twice as hard for approval, even AFTER fairly winning the Presidential Race, not once… But twice.

We’ve ran with you. We’ve cried with you. We’ve buried innocent black lives with you. We’ve moved forward with you. We sang along with you.

Keywords: with you.

You opened yourself up to us… To the world… So we could see the real you.

We’ve seen you succeed, even when cynics and bigots used their bribes in a lousy attempt to make you fail. But you literally dusted your shoulders off and showed them black magic that they’ve never seen before.

So I want you to tell you, on behalf of those who don’t give you the credit you deserve:

Thanks, Obama.

Not because you are cliché. In fact, quite the contrary. Thank you for keeping it real. For doing a thankless job with style and grace. Not because you have to. But because you genuinely care. You always have.

Like my dad, you’ll do whatever it takes to protect your children.

Despite all the congressional gridlock, and all the turmoil…

You’ve made me feel safe, like my own dad does for us. That’s what it is.

Losing you feels like a huge part of me, like losing my dad… I see so much of my dad in you… You in my dad… And as it is, I know you guys are getting older and it’s completely out of my control, but I don’t want to picture life without my dad. And I can’t help but feel angry with you for leaving us, your family. To fend for ourselves in this circus. Now I know you’re leaving us in good hands, hands that you trust.

It’s funny actually… In the fourth grade, I found myself writing a letter to Hillary telling her that she would be the first woman president. Little did I know, you would come and shake up my whole world to the point that I was on your team even when she ran against you.

And although you’re like a dad to me, this is a break-up letter. Not a bitter “I hate you and never want to see your ugly face again,” kind of break-up. But quite the opposite. Kind of like… I’m Noah and you’re Allie (see: The Notebook)

“It’s not over and it will never be over!”

And that’s because –

You made me listen, and I am wiser.

You made me better, and I am grateful.

You made me a priority, and I am devoted.

Devoted to making you proud — proud of your children. Devoted to doing all that I can, for all the people that I can, in all the ways that I can, for as long as I can. Devoted to never losing my faith, the same way you kept yours.

Devoted to carrying that same beacon of hope that has been etched in my heart and soul the moment you accepted the nomination this time eight years ago… The same way you carried US.

I’m sitting here thinking to myself,

“What could I have done differently? I can still change! I’ve never stopped loving you!”

I’ve even contemplated burning you a mix CD of all the “Please don’t go” R&B songs I could find, because the truth is…

I will never love another President the way I loved you. Maybe that’s because you’re the first president that I voted for… And you know what they say… You never forget your first.

Or maybe its because you really are the People’s Champ.

I think it’s the former. Just kidding. It’s most definitely the former. Okay, okay. Kidding again. It’s without a doubt the latter.

You sang Amazing Grace to us once before, not knowing that you were ours.

They say you don’t realize how amazing someone is until they leave. But I knew it from the moment you serenaded us with Al Green… Well, okay. Maybe before.

I know you’ve got a lot on your plate (that’s the understatement of the year), even as you exit… So I don’t know if you’ve had time to notice, but literally, Dad… The nation is mourning your absence already. January 20, 2017 hasn’t even come yet and I can tell you with great certainty it will be the most bittersweet day of our lives if Hillz is elected.

But The First Family is your priority. Always has been, and I know you did your best to put The First family first these last eight years. But it was kind of hard when you had millions of us who needed you just as badly. You spoiled us, like any great dad (redundant, I know) would, it’s true.

But they deserve to be spoiled now; with your undivided attention. Especially with the girls getting older, slowly but surely fleeing the nest soon. I can’t help but wish my dad had that same luxury. To be done with his job and just focus solely on enjoying us.

President Obama… I say all this to say… It’s painful enough saying goodbye to someone you don’t want to let go. But it’s torture to ask you to stay when I know you really want to go. I mean, how lucky are we to have known someone who is so hard to say goodbye to?

This is the epitome of “If you love someone, let them go.” But I couldn’t let you go, without telling you what you’ve meant to me. What you will always mean to me… To us.

With endless love and gratitude,

All Your Children

One of Your Children