
Valentine’s Day is upon us, so it seems appropriate to reaffirm my love, most especially in those places in which I have been least clear. Just over three years ago, I wrote a short essay called “finally American.” It was a love letter of sorts in which I expressed my relief in being able to claim my nationality with dignity and pride instead of shame and disdain. I used “hope” in some form no less than three times.
Since then, like many others, I’ve watched that hope wane under the most relentless onslaught of the political pounding of a President any of us has ever seen. Because I was so disappointed by the chasm between that hope and reality, I stopped professing my love. I sit here now, realizing all is not lost. My feelings have been hurt and I have felt betrayed, but in the end, I still not only believe in, but hold love for, not Barack Obama, Savior, but my President, Barack Obama, the man.
I know many of us may still believe he failed and owes us. Maybe we’ll even be tempted to punish him by staying home pouting this election year. I suggest we leave the childish crush of 2008 behind and this year, invest in a grownup—and mutually supportive—love.