Thanks, Obama: My Hopey, Changey White House Years

by David Litt

When strolling down memory lane, it’s always tempting to spackle on a layer of retroactive dignity. As I considered my good fortune, John F. Kennedy’s words echoed through my heart. “Ask not what your country can do for you,” I told myself, thanking God for the gift of freedom. Nonsense. I rushed back to my apartment, ripped off my suit, and jumped up and down in my underwear. I fist-pumped. I hollered the word holy, followed by every obscenity I knew. Then I immediately started calling people.

Perhaps there are some people who, summoned to the Oval Office for the very first time, walk in there like it’s no big deal. Those people are sociopaths.

To make matters worse, when you have a meeting in the Oval Office, you don’t just go into the Oval Office. First you wait in a tiny, windowless chamber. It’s kind of like the waiting room in a doctor’s office, but instead of last year’s Marie Claire magazines they have priceless pieces of American art. And instead of a receptionist, there’s a man with a gun. And in a worst-case scenario, the man with a gun is legally required to kill you. It turns out this little room is the perfect place to second-guess every life choice you have ever made.

Then there were the ad-libs. Unlike Vice President Biden, who regularly gave his teleprompter operator a heart attack, POTUS didn’t often go off script. Occasionally, however, he’d cock his head slightly to the side and pause. It happened so quickly I think only the speechwriters noticed. But if you knew what to look for, you could see a dialogue play out in his head. You know, this line isn’t cutting it. I bet I could come up with something better. Are you sure? Maybe the speechwriter knows something you don’t? He’s how old? Twenty-five? Seems unlikely. Then the president would deliver something on the fly and, nine times out of ten, the crowd would break into applause.

That’s why, if my OkCupid profile had included the question, “What’s the most important thing about remarks for President Obama?” I would have said this: Write long sentences. Most speakers can’t handle them. They need to keep things tight. Otherwise they get lost. But Barack Obama could control a run-on sentence the way a sports car makes turns at speed, emphasizing, pausing, finding beats within the words and phrases not because of the punctuation but thanks to his innate talent as an orator, his voice rising and falling and carrying you along with it, so that by the time he reached his final crescendo you felt bigger than yourself, and better than yourself, and part of and proud of and lucky to be alive in the greatest country on earth.

There was, however, a problem. The commander in chief couldn’t keep a straight face. “Hold on to your lily-white butts,” cried Keegan. The line, one of Lovett’s suggestions from Los Angeles, was Luther’s first of the night. POTUS burst out laughing. “Okay, okay. I’ve got to keep it together.” But this was a promise President Obama clearly couldn’t keep. He lost it every time.

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THE STORY BEHIND THIS CORRESPONDENCE DINNER AND THE USE OF KEY & PEELE'S "LUTHER THE ANGER TRANSLATOR"

Below us, Luther the Anger Translator strode onstage. Keegan hadn’t been kidding when he promised POTUS he would go for it. His veins bulged. His eyes bugged. As he screamed his opening line, the one about butts, my eyes darted to the president. Please don’t break. Please-don’t-break-please-don’t-break-please-don’t-break. To my horror, I saw POTUS swallow a laugh. It looked like he was about to lose it. And then, an instant before the point of no return, something clicked. It was like a bicycle changing gears. The president’s solemn expression snapped into place. When he continued, it was in the calm, backyard-trampolines tone he used for the weekly address: “We count on the press to shed light on the most important issues of the day.” “And we can count on Fox News to terrify old white people with some nonsense!” Luther was as loud as ever, but I no longer needed to worry. POTUS wasn’t breaking. For the next five minutes he was flawless, his timing impeccable, his body language perfect. When the subject turned to climate change denial, President Obama’s anger was, as promised, real.

Real love is about fighting for something long after its flaws are laid bare. It’s about caring so deeply, you have no choice but to place another’s well-being above your own. Love is not a feeling. It transcends feelings. Love is what allows us to be disillusioned and to somehow still believe.