Dear Sasha Obama,
We missed you last night, but I know how it is. You had an exam this morning. You can’t be howling at the moon, whooping it up with all the Obama llamas. While the rest of us were standing in abject denial that this was really #ObamaFarewell, nobody gave you a farewell from the books. I put some respek on that, as the kids say.
In case you missed it, your dad waxed poetic about virtues and values but mostly he just made time stand still and we all sighed and cried and hoped that you were somewhere duct-taped to the front gates of the White House gates barring exit.
Your dad is the 44th president but first in our hearts. I can only imagine what it’s like to know that your pops is the same man who inspires millions of people every day, people who have found his strength of character and level-headed leadership style so refreshing. I also wonder what it’s like to be disciplined by a man who constantly speaks with pregnant pauses, while peering into your soul. How does that even work? “Sasha…you will never…ever…have to resolve… with intrepid hope…such as you will today…to turn the key…INTO the ignition.” End: fantasy of President Obama teaching me to drive.
Before you dip out, please let me commend you for the grace you have shown as a First Kid. I found 4th grade to be an absolute battlefield and 7th grade was a hot mess. That was without the Secret Service monitoring my playdates and Suri’s Burn Book running her mouth about my fetch fashions. Props to you, Sasha. I hope you and Malia will call upon your years playing hide and seek in the Lincoln Bedroom as a fond time. I also hope you’ll totally rock it wherever you land, whether it’s Chicago with your folks or Boston with Malia or elsewhere. I also hope Bo lives forever and that you never have to humor your old man’s jokes about pardoning turkeys ever again.
Most presently, though, I hope you crushed that exam, girl.