Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,

The past 72 hours, I have felt closer to you than ever before (in the most normal way possible…). It all began Tuesday evening with your very necessary update to the nation: The State of the Union Address.

As I sat listening to you talk about localizing manufacturing, creating jobs, a future filled with green energy initiatives, and Dream-Act-esque hints at creating a safer education environment for all students no matter their nationality, it was clear to me from my couch in my little purple house in Ann Arbor that your hopes and dreams for an America that could last were genuine. My mouth was a content, fulfilled, confident curve. Satisfaction.

That next evening led me to a time of great adventure- sitting outside of the Michigan Union on State Street all night in the lovely January chill to make sure I secured my chance of a lifetime. This chance I speak of was to see you address 3,000 Wolverines (and all of those other old sages who live in Ann Arbor who are honorary Wolverines) on Friday, the 27th day of 2012. As I sat shivering off all of my Iorio’s Gelato from earlier that day, I was struck by an overwhelming wave of wonder because of what was occurring… I was surrounded by thousands of people of all ages, races, nationalities, sexualities, religions, and genders who were all bound by a common thread: a respect for you, Barack Obama, and your ability to unify us as a nation unlike any other president has before. And that feeling of wonder soon turned into awe and gratitude… never once had I seen so many of my peers, friends, and fellow diag-walkers so bonded and so determined. You gave us a reason to not only realize we can (barely) survive living on the streets of Ann Arbor for a night, but also have a dance party by the cube on a school night, develop little line-waiting families, and keep Pizza House in business for the next few years (I have never seen so many pizzas delivered in my life).

As all of this was happening, I was so lucky to have the chance to trek up to the top deck of the Thompson Street parking structure with a couple of friends to get a better look at everything that was going on. Tracing the snake of students winding around the area behind the Union was the most rewarding game I had played in a very long time. At this point (4:00 AM), there were about 1,000 people in line and they were all content. It could have just been my delirium from staying up for so long, but I was pretty certain I could see the pearly whites of hundreds of smiling college kids all grinning at the potential inspiration you were about to instill in them.  Finally, after being one of the few lucky ones shuffled back into the Union at 7:00 AM and spilling coffee all over the basement (again, delirium…), it was time to receive our personalized invitations to your speech. After signing my name in proud handwriting on my ticket and doing a celebratory dance in front of a couple of news cameras, you felt closer than ever. My mouth was a wide, teeth bearing, dimple creating grin. Inspired. Ecstatic.

My Thursday flew by in anticipation of your arrival. Another late night brought another early morning (5:20 AM to be exact), but this time, it felt like Christmas. And what Santa had brought me was unlike anything I could have ever asked for. My beautiful housemate and I walked arm in arm to the field house in the early morning dark. Ann Arbor was transformed into an intriguing maze with more pedestrians than I had ever seen in this purple blue light before. They were snow shuffling to the Glick Field House, and once there, it was another bout of line waiting. Wrapped three people deep around the field, the anxiously waiting students and other community members were glowing. In neckties, pearls, and the widest grins I’ve ever witnessed, we were dressed up to the nines to impress your eyes. The dances of anticipation were outstanding. The leg shakes, the full excited jumps, the tight embraces. We unwound slowly beginning at 7:00 AM and made our way through the nicest security I had ever encountered (they got a kick out of my un-matching mittens). Once inside, I was floating. We were pressed together like I was at a Kings of Leon concert. Whether you would sing us some Al Green was of no importance, we just wanted to hear your voice preaching some truth. The national anthem was sung, the pledge of allegiance was hummed, inspirational waiting songs were out on a loop (I heard U2, Bruce Springsteen, and India.Arie more than I ever had in my life). Then, then it was that time. You were fashionably late and I imagined you on the phone with your daughters wishing them a good morning before wishing us the same. It was that time. My mouth was hung open, ready to eat the knowledge you were about to pour over us and ready to laugh at your Denard jokes and ready to spread into the most inspired curve of a smile I had felt in months. It was time.

And I suppose it would be silly to continue on, Mr. President, because I know you know what happened next. Here’s to education, here’s to Michigan, and here’s to an America Built to Last.