5. Little Things

Dear Mr. President or To Whom It may Concern:

A friend of mine was talking about his home, and what it was like. He described it in detail, even the people living within. That’s the most important part about “home,” right? The people you share it with.

When I thought about my home, the beach came to mind. The ocean is my home; the beach is my sky; and the sky is my confidence in my safety. I never feel quite as comfortable as I do when I’m at the beach. I adore the feel of the water lapping at my ankles, cool and yet somehow warm with love. I have so many amazing memories at the beach, dancing with friends and building fires at night.

Yet it’s the little things within the bigger picture we so enjoy: the tiniest shell, the lone seagull, or the last sliver of sunlight over the horizon. All these minuscule things we never think twice about, but as we gaze on… it means so much.

Eyes, for another example – the window to the soul; the iris, one of the smallest features our human bodies have, and yet we are enthralled by them, entranced by them, ruled by them.

It certainly is the little things in life.



Truly sincerely, and with all wishes for your happiness,

L.

4. The Garden

Dear the Misses Malia and Sasha Obama or To Whom It May Concern:

I know where the garden lies;
Where every tiny firefly
Tricks the stars to fall in love --
Makes them think they're just above --
With the burning flames of night
Burning with the same bright light.
I know where the garden lies
Covered with those fireflies.

In the garden, there's a rose
Sweet to every creature to pose;
Stand beside the flower's bloom,
Bright even in darkest gloom.
Few to view the serenade;
Few to hear the songs it makes.
In the garden there's a rose
Found by few, and loved by those.

I knew where the garden lies,
Fell in love with the fireflies,
Visited the lonesome rose
As it sang the song, I posed;
Stood beside all its beauty
All the fireflies did see
I knew where the garden lies
Fell in love through my young eyes.

I’ve now written at least one letter to your mother and father and felt I should write one to you girls, as well. I don’t particularly know where my letters go when I write them, I only know that I am writing and that it may be of some interest to the receiver. I thought that out of all the people in the White House, you two would like a poem the most.

And if you’re not into poetry, that’s perfectly fine! Consider this a salutation from a citizen who wanted nothing more than to make you smile.

But – if you are into poetry: The poem is about a young girl who stumbled upon a little garden. It’s a sweet-smelling place, full of life and freedom and liberty. There are trees and birds and butterflies, a rope-swing hanging from a tree nearby. It’s calming and peaceful here. The sun always shines.

The little girl loved the garden, and visited it frequently. The fireflies welcomed her with soft kisses of light. Suddenly a cool night spread across the grass, the garden, and the swing. It was the first time she’d ever seen the garden as anything but bright, but she did not mind. The fireflies would fly up and up and up – almost reaching the stars – before turning and flying back to the girl, whom they had come to love. It was a soft darkness, the kind in movies where true love shines.

One day she found a rose – the only one in the entire tiny garden. She stayed with it all day, sitting beside it in the shade of the surrounding plants, until the softest of nights returned. The rose opened in the darkness – out fluttered the petals in a wonderful array of colors – every color of the rainbow, shimmering and shifting on the rose. The girl imagined the shifting colors matched a tune to a song. Every time it changed, a new note would sound, and so she hummed the Rose’s Serenade.

But as the girl grew older, the garden was harder and harder to find. Eventually the walls disappeared at her touch. She would see the rose and the fireflies no more. She remembers the garden, though, to this day – and passes on her story to anyone who will listen, waiting for another little girl who will love the garden as much as she. Only someone with as strong a love as she will ever find it.

Best wishes and truly sincerely,

L., a spinner of words at your command

3. Chance

Dear Mrs. First Lady or To Whom It May Concern:

It struck me as odd that I have written to the President but never to his wife, a woman of much, if not the same amount, of influence. I felt you were just as deserving of a letter – not as though my letters have all too much weight. Let’s not put me up on a pedestal where I most certainly do not belong!

I had all these letters written to the President, not one of them truly addressing any point, but just sort of talking. It made me wonder if he read them, and if he did if he enjoyed reading them – and if he did, would you enjoy them, too? Perhaps your daughters would like to read them. Maybe I can be a sort of comic relief when they feel stressed – a nice letter to make them smile once in a while. I can talk about anything they wish. I can tell them a story, if they’re still young enough for one such a thing.

I don’t know what I’d say to them. If you’ve read my previous letters, you’ll know I just write what comes to my mind. Right now what is on my mind is the final I have this week, and how my internship at the animal hospital is going to end soon…

The internship is through a program called Regional Occupational Program (ROP); the course is called Animal Health Care. I’ve wanted to be a vet for a very long time, and this program has only made my desire stronger. Through it and with it, I have felt the greatest feeling I can muster – and experienced one of the most heart-wrenching losses.

There was a dog named Chance who came in for a few days. There were many things wrong with that Labrador. He was living on three legs; he had a cancer his owner couldn’t pay to treat; he wasn’t eating; he had a few other things I’m not inclined to describe.

Chance was always a happy dog, and easy to manage once we got him into the exam room. Walking was pretty tough for my little tripod. I got attached to him – I was there to check him in, to prepare his room, to greet his owner and to make him as comfortable as possible while we all tried to save his life. Chance taught me the importance of being strong, of breaking out of my shell, and of the most difficult task in the animal field. Chance taught me the darker side of the field; the side I could not glorify with dogs walking out the door with wagging tails and owners waiting with open arms. He taught me everything I needed to know, and solidified my goal of becoming a veterinarian.

We put my friend down after his third visit. We found something that just wasn’t fixable, and his owner finally realized just how much her dog was suffering. It’s hard to let go of someone you love, and have loved for many years. It was hard for me to let go of Chance after just three days. We did all we could for him, but in the end he crossed Rainbow Road.

I held his owner’s hand as it happened; she wanted to wait for her son, so she wouldn’t be alone. Then she started talking and remembering all the funny things Chance would do, and I held her hand. She was ready, then, but her son arrived shortly after, anyway, to see Chance before I learned the hardest lesson ever. She gave me a hug before she left. I think I needed it more than she did.

About one month later there was a cat who had gotten into a fight with a coyote – and lived to tell the tale! Or show it, rather. If that cat – such a tiny thing – can do that… What can I do? If that cat can be that strong, who’s to say I can’t thrive, too?

I suppose that’s one of my hardest challenges – convincing myself that I can do it. I haven’t been the best student during my high school career, but I’ve always tried, and I’ve always learned. I can continue learning, too, if only I can convince myself that I have that kind of power.


Truly sincerely, with all due respect,



L., a random civilian

2. The Brave Man

Dear Mr. President or To Whom It May Concern:

It’s a great feeling to be accomplished, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to ask the President of the United States what it’s like to hear that he has won. Does he jump for joy? Or hug his head campaign manager? Maybe one of the former presidents did little bunny hops with his secretary as she screamed like an adolescent at her favorite concert.

My imagination has an incredibly strong habit of running away from me. I’m rather sure it’s far more professional than that – except for the campaigners. I’m sure they have this whole graduation-type ceremony of throwing a few papers into the air, hooting and hollering just a little, high-fives all around. That’s what I’d want my campaigners to do, anyway. Perhaps they really do just stand or sit around, applause filling the room – or rooms; I’m not entirely sure what the campaigner’s job is like.

I can imagine being the President of the United States. I can imagine performing my duties as given by the constitution and the people. What I can’t imagine, though, is the emotional aspects that come with it. I can see a war room and deciding what to do. I can’t see the emotions I’d feel when I’d decide to take the lives of the warriors from another country – people I’ve never even seen.

I can imagine seeing them. But I can’t imagine what they’d do if they saw me, the President of the United States. I’d be very much afraid of being the President. But at the same time, I’d be very proud.

In many ways, I feel about it the same way I feel about people I know serving in our military. Proud, overjoyed, relieved – but at the same time terrified, worried, and sick. My brother’s closest friend in this world was sworn into the Marines a few Mondays ago. His going-away party is today. Do you know what he’s going to be? He’s going to be a grunt. A grunt!

I’ve known this boy for eleven years. He’s close to me, too – he’s my brother. His mom died when he was still young; so young that he can’t remember her too well. His step-mother doesn’t take any particular interest in his activities, interests, or life – but his dad takes an interest in her son’s. Not exactly fair, if you ask me. But she’s trying – now that he’s going off to serve our country.

Travis – that’s Mr. Marine – and my brother became very close friends in elementary school. Trav has stood up for me more times than I can count – has been there for me just like my own actual family. And we’ve been there for him. He’s come over to our house whenever he needed to get away.

He wrote my mom a card for her birthday. It’s more than what I can say; though I didn’t forget about what very special day it was, I didn’t have the money to get her anything, and didn’t think about even making her something. That’s how sweet of a boy Trav is. And yes, he is a boy. He is not a man. But he is willing to sacrifice himself for our safety – for my safety.

In the card, he told my mom that she had been his only mother figure in his lifetime. That we were his family, and our home was his home, if we’d let it. And of course we would!

Never before have I seen so many emotions with someone enlisting, because never before did I know anyone enlisted. I only just met a cousin of mine who has been serving the Marines for a couple years. But that isn’t as emotional as Travis because I will see Travis change. My cousin – a brilliant and wonderful man, to be sure, at the age of nineteen – has already changed. There’s nothing for me to anticipate, he is how he will be. But Travis will change, and I will see him change. I like him how he is. It certainly has opened my eyes. I’m terrified for Travis; I want to see him home safe. But at the same time I am so, so incredibly proud to see him do this for me, and for us. For everyone.

It takes a brave heart, and an even braver soul, to do as these men do every day.

I want him to see the action he seeks, but I know I might never see him again. I haven’t accepted this yet; it’s only in my mind, not in my heart. I’m not brave enough to believe someone who has protected me for most of my life is going off to protect me from even greater dangers. However, I can believe that he’s protecting my freedom. It’s what he’s done every day since I met him.

I can’t believe you’re willing to take this country upon your shoulders, every life and every parcel of land. However, I can believe you’re protecting us, the people – your people. Because it’s what you’ve been doing for years longer than I’ve been alive.

In this letter I wanted to thank you for being a brave heart, and a braver soul.

Truly sincerely,

L., a pursuant of bravery

PS: Bravery is being able to stand when you know you should fall. It’s not about winning or losing; it’s about being able to stand. You don’t need to stand tall to be brave. You just can’t fall. Bravery is not giving in or giving up; it’s about resisting. It takes a brave man to stand alone, but a braver, greater man to realize when he is wrong. Stand for what you believe, and when it changes don’t be afraid to admit it.

1. We the People

To Mr. President or whom it may concern:



I’ve often thought of writing you a letter. I apologize if I seem informal or cross; I simply feel like writing out my current thoughts. I’ve decided to write you a letter often. Whether or not I decide to send them is a different story. I’d like to talk about communication between the people and those in power, as well as other matters I hold close to my heart – such as my high school’s current position. These aren’t meant to sway you or your opinions; I’d actually prefer for you to stay as you are. I’m simply creating conversation and creating communication between the people and those in power.

I’m afraid of offending you, or your peers. I’ll try not to talk about specific names, as I realize I don’t personally know him/her, ergo I don’t have any right to talk of him/her – or so that is what I believe. It’s not as though I have the ability to speak personally to a congressman or senator; I don’t have the chance to get to know one. Though, if the opportunity arose, I would do absolutely everything to ensure I have been a part of it.

This brings me to part of my point. We the people of the United States don’t often have an opportunity like this, to talk to those in a position of power and express our wants and needs. I desperately hope this letter makes it to your eyes or ears.

I’ve dreamed of meeting a person of political influence. I’ve dreamed of asking questions and getting answers – thorough answers. I can easily find the “what” or the “why” on the internet; it’s the “how” that hides away in secret slumber. It’s nearly impossible for someone with my limited resources. So you’re a politician, and so you’re going to help the public schools, because it’s what you’re concerned with the most – but how? Will you raise taxes? Will you change the way public schools are getting their funding? How do you plan on helping us?

Often times during an election there is no how, and we the people just figure it out as we go along.

I live in California. Try as I might to keep in touch with all the political changes and adaptations going on, it usually proves to be trivial. I’m a full-time student in high school and I’m also an intern at a local animal hospital, so I don’t have too much time on my hands for anything other than homework. As soon as my internship ends, you can bet I’ll be spending much of my spare time researching United States government, its policies, its processes and such.

We touched on proposing legislation and how a bill becomes law in government class. Not once did the passing of anything have to do with the people, aside from the people voting for the proposer/passer. But, you know… sometimes there aren’t too many good choices. Sometimes there aren’t any at all, and I have found, in this last Special Election, there’s usually even less information than there are options. I’d like very much to go to just one website, one page where I can get everything – the “who,” “what,” “where,” “when,” “how,” and “why” all in one place.

Again, I apologize for the informality of this letter.

As I was talking with my parents, it popped into my head to have a forum where new political ideas could be posted and the people – that is, the people resident to the area potentially affected – could talk and speak their mind, voice their opinions on the matter. You see, more often than not I see politicians putting into play new policies – or editing old policies – without consulting the people, whom it affects above all else. We have amazing technology – we have internet at our disposal. Your disposal, your fingertips! We should use it to better the peoples’ understanding of political intentions, plans, and how’s. We should use it to help the people communicate with those in power.

I realize our say is primarily in voting for the person, but I really don’t think that should count for the policies we can’t vote for. I hear my parents, my peers, and the adults in my life talk amongst themselves about the newest political news, and even if they disagree it is usually put into play. I know that’s solely the people around me, and there is such a greater scope to this – but the politicians should realize this, too, if they don’t.

There is a term in psychology – it’s really a very entertaining class, if you have a teacher as excellent as mine – called the “false consensus effect,” which is the tendency to overestimate the extent to which others share our beliefs and behaviors. My school’s Associative Student Body does this a lot; just because they like one type of music alone, they think the rest of the student body like it, too, and we’ll be content with only that style of music at each and every school event. Personally, I’m quite the oldies fan. I can easily see this in the political world. Just because the majority of the “political clique,” if I may so call it, approves of an item, that doesn’t mean the people whom it will affect the most approve.

My mom said we can only hear as much as our bubbles permit. My bubble consists of my classmates, my friends, my family, and my teachers. What do the politicians’ bubbles consist of – their family and fellows? Is that a fair representation of we – the people? I do believe I see more of the people, talk to more of a representative population sample, than those with high political status. The populations upon whom the laws and such are to be imposed don’t seem to have much of a say in what’s going on. Nor do the politicians seem to be seeking out the peoples’ opinions.

This, of course, is purely what I see and feel, not a matter of fact. If I am wrong, please don’t let me continue believing I am so right. If I am wrong it is my every intention of being corrected.

I would love to be able to click on one link – one Google result – and have all the information right in front of me, to be able to respond and comment as I wish, to be able to read what others outside of my bubble – people and politician alike – have to say, to have the chance to process that and understand that and compare it to my own opinions and values, and to be able to draw a conclusion with nothing more than fairness. But, above all, I would love for the politicians to read it as well and to take into consideration what we the people have to say.

Their clique is not my clique, and our opinions are often based off those with whom we associate. Every voice counts. Does mine count, too?


Truly sincerely, and from the deepest depths of my growing heart,




L., your average young American citizen

Explanation (I'm Not Insane)

I have these random spurts of writing about whatever comes to mind. Often it turns out as poetry. Often they are very vague things my mother says I should actually send out to whomever I am speaking. Often I don't know to whom I am speaking until the letter is finished.

These are my letters to the President.

L.