I watched you on the television with my family. The rough upholstery of our gold, brown and green couch left burlapped imprints on the back of my pale legs. Sticky fingers rubbed the tender itchy bumps.

I didn’t know what it meant to be the President, but watching your speech, I knew for sure that a President was supposed to make me feel like you did- safe, calm, confident, and hopeful. Clearly, being the President also meant being kind. I wanted to be a President too.

I was always too soft. Too giving. “Too” kind. You invited me to be part of something bigger than myself, something far more important than politics. You showed me the power of faith and intelligent kindness. I cried when you lost the race- the other guy felt crusty and aloof. I really wanted you to win, even though I didn’t like peanuts.

T.