Thanks, Obama: My Hopey, Changey White House Years

by David Litt

here, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is the single most valuable lesson I learned in public service: There are no grown-ups, at least not in the way I imagined as a kid. Once you reach a certain age, the world has no more parents. But it contains a truly shocking number of children. These children come in all ages, in all sizes, from every walk of life and every corner of the political map. And this is the reason I’m most grateful for my time in Obamaworld. For eight formative years, often against my will, I was forced to act like an adult. Children strive for pleasure; adults for fulfillment. Children demand adoration; adults earn respect. Children find worth in what they acquire; adults find worth in the responsibilities they bear. And more than anything else, what separates adults and children is the way in which they love. I didn’t always understand this. One night in 2011, during the first month Jacqui and I were dating, I had a few too many Island Juleps and began to ramble. “The problem,” I announced, “is that there’s not enough love in our politics.” In hindsight, I had no clue what I was talking about. If you’re a certain type of young person in Washington, this is simply what you say to someone you hope will sleep with you. I consider myself lucky it worked. But if pressed, I suppose I would have admitted that by love I meant something more like infatuation. It was the way I felt the very first time I saw that freshman senator from Illinois. He’s flawless! He gets m...