Pink

Dear Mr. President,

[should all be read quickly and eagerly, like a small child, sad parts slow down like a little kid too]

My name is Lexi, and I am 6 and 3 quarters. My birthday is February 15th and that’s one day after Valentine’s Day which is the day of love. My teacher asked me to write about something I love. But I love a lot of stuff. I love pizza and swimming, but I hate pink. Pink is for babies and I’m a big girl now. Never wear pink, Mr. President, because I won’t like it. My mommy likes pink though, especially when the sun rises and the clouds turn into cotton candy in the sky. I love my mommy. I also love my daddy. They love me too. They love me soooooo much that they’d do anything for me. They tell me that every day just so I’ll remember. I think that’s silly though because I’m smart, so I’ll remember it anyway. My teacher wants me to write about how much we love you, Mr. President. I think I can do that.

My mommy really loves you. She said that she voted for you a whole 2 years before I was born. Two years is pretty long if you ask me. She said that the White House was in serious danger because some really bad men were trying to live in it, and we needed a hero to come protect us. She said that you were different from all the other Mr. Presidents that came before you, and that you were the one who could save the day! You were the one who could change the world and keep our country happy and safe forever! When you won, my mommy cried big happy tears. In 2012, I went behind the blue blanket to help push the button with your name on it to make you win again. When you won, my mommy told me our country was still safe from the bad guys. The big tears happened all over. This year was really different. We didn’t get to push your name.

Why did you take your name away, Mr. President? My teacher told me it’s because you have to give someone else a turn, but you’re doing a great job keeping out the baddies, so it’s fine with me if you just stay. This year, Mommy wasn’t so happy to watch TV with me anymore. She would turn it off sometimes when this one man came on the screen. He had tiny little eyes and almost-gone hair like Daddy’s that was always rushing away from his face. Kind of like it was blowing in the wind but all the time. When he talked, his mouth got really small like he was biting a lemon, and he would move his hands around like he was my music teacher. The weirdest thing about him though was his orange skin. It was almost as orange as my friend Crissy’s hair, except by his eyes. Sometimes this man was hunched over behind a tall table, talking to a blonde haired woman that made Mommy smile. Other times, he was just talking to the screen. He was always yelling at Mommy through the box. He always looked angry. He always said mean things. I asked my teacher about the big orange man one day, and she told me that he was trying to get your job, Mr. President! Can you believe that? When my teacher told me that, I got really upset and I threw my notebook. She got stern with me, but I told her that you can’t just take someone’s job like that, especially not a hero’s! She still told my mom. Luckily my mommy agreed with me, so she didn’t get too angry. Mommy says the orange man has none of the experience that you need to be a good president for our country, and that he is mean to all of the people who don’t look and think like him. She said he would break our country. That sounds bad. Daddy doesn’t hate him like Mommy does. He says the orange man will make more jobs, and he needs one. He says he will run the country like a business, and make us all rich! I want to be rich too!...But Mommy says he’s a bully. Sometimes we watch the TV all together. Sometimes it’s not fun. Mommy gets upset and Daddy tells her she’s being stupid because of course the orange man can’t actually do anything that bad to the Mexicans, but Mommy says it doesn’t matter, it’s the fact that he says it at all, and I just sit there. Mr. President?

Last night, Mommy made Daddy and leave our house for the night. When I asked Mommy why he left, she said it was because the nice old woman didn’t get picked to take your job. She said the mean orange man did, and Daddy helped him. She told him that he was just as bad as the orange man himself. My dad threw something at the wall. I could hear it from my bed. I heard the door slam too. My mom crawled into my bed last night. This time she wasn’t crying big happy tears. These were blue. They were the ones that leave a big line on your face because they don’t stop for a while. Like when a boy takes your toy while the other kids are watching, but when you tell on him, they all shake their heads. And the teacher gives the boy the toy. And the kids walk away with him, laughing. And you know you’re all alone. Those kind of tears. When I woke up next to my mommy this morning, the sky outside was gray and still. The birds weren’t singing. Cars barely honked. The world was stiff and tired. Mommy didn’t smile today.

Mr. President, I know you aren’t going to have your job for much longer, but if you can do one last thing for us, can you please make the birds sing and the sky pink again? I think that will make Mommy smile.

Love,

Lexi