From the Corner of the Oval

by Beck Dorey-Stein

Maybe Steve Jobs was right: You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” POTUS says. “I know when you’re young it seems like it goes on forever. It turns out things are fragile. And yet, the thing that outlives each of us is what we do for somebody else, what difference did we make.

if you were a guy, you’d say you were a writer, and that you were writing the next great American novel. If you write, you’re a writer, and you should be proud of yourself.”

I look across the arena, at all the blue Obama signs: It’s a sea of believers, a congregation of hope. It’s only when POTUS takes one of his famous pauses that I hear myself praying. I am asking, pleading, begging, moving my lips through the mantra, Please don’t go, please don’t go, please don’t go.

except for one framed picture of Trump’s father. There isn’t a single photo of Barron, or Melania, or even Ivanka. If only Fred had told his son he loved him, that he was proud of him—maybe none of this would have happened.

Thank you, Vice President Biden and Dr. Biden, for your endless optimism and contagious compassion. You make every house a home, and every stranger a friend. I can’t tell you how often I quote you. Thank you for being the truest of teachers.