Dear Dad, your blabber mouth baby girl got to visit the Oval Office.

And I brought you with me.

Dear Dad,

It’s me, Joanne.

I should probably assume you’d automatically know that up there, but who the hell knows how the mail works in heaven, and can I even say the word “hell” if you’re gonna read it in heaven? Is it like saying “bomb” on a plane? And is that even true? Is it true that you can’t say bomb on a plane or was it just some silly line in a Ben Stiller movie? And where IS Ben Stiller? Does he even act anymore?

Yeah, yeah, I’m doing that thing I do, I know, I know, I’m rambling and I know you want me to get to the point. You’re not in a hurry per se, other than to water and weed God’s garden for like the 9th time today, and it’s not that you’re disinterested in what I have to say, you’re just a man of efficiency when it comes to words, (see: “We gonna eat my sisters” when asked one year what we were doing for Thanksgiving).

I can hear your classic “ok, ok, so, how ahhhhh you” to shepherd me away from my frequent detours and refocus my mind on the task at hand. By the way, I always assumed you were in such a hurry to learn English when you came to this country from Lebanon as a teenager that you never bothered with those annoying Rs in words like “are”, so after 76 years here on earth, your muddled accent and missing conjunctions left you sounding a bit like an Arabic caveman from Boston.

Ok, ok, I’ll get to the point…

No, I’m not in trouble. No— I didn’t do anything stupid, unless we’re talking about me nearly cutting my thumb off opening a Christmas package three glasses of wine and two Coltrane albums into my night, in which case… ok, yes.

Yes, the kids are great. Ruby too. Yes, I’m still running my mouth, yes, I’m still being stubborn, yes, I’m still a hot head and yes, I’m still pissing people off. None of that should surprise you.

No, I don’t need you to come here in the middle of the afternoon and make me a pot of weirdly wonderful warm and delicious random ingredient soup, even though the very thought of that possibility makes my eyes well up with tears.

I don’t need you to WD-40 anything or electrical tape “repair” any of my furniture. But what I wouldn’t give right now if you could.

I don’t need anything at all dad, I just want to tell you something.

But before I get to the thing I want to tell you about the thing I did, I also want to tell you that I miss you. And that I love you.

I miss you terribly. I miss you in the little things and the big things and all the million trillion everyday things in between. I miss your voice, your wisdom, your counsel, your humor, your efficient stoicism and your poorly-kept secret sentimentality. I miss the love only you could have ever given, the kind of love which made me feel so safe, so protected and so strong.

I miss just knowing you were somewhere on this earth, your feet still planted on the ground someplace I could travel to. Someplace on a map I could find. I miss feeling tied to someone, to something, aside from my own children, that I never had to think about. I never had to question.

I miss knowing I wasn’t just floating out here without you. I miss being able to tell you about the things I did that I was proud of. I spent a lot of my life doing things I wasn’t proud of, things you weren’t proud of, and I’m sorry for that. You loved me despite all of it. I know you did.

But I do so hope you’re proud of me right now, because I’m really proud of myself dad, and I just want to tell you about it. Even though, in my heart and mind, you were actually there.

I’m not sure if you’ve been watching, and even though I think you have been, and I really hope you have, I just don’t know IF you definitely have, partly on account of the fact that I don’t think I can actually see ghosts (I did see one once long ago but it wasn’t you and frankly, he was pretty scary looking), and partly because you likely don’t see the utility in hovering over every minute of your kids lives when you know that we’ll reach out to you whenever we’re in need both in good times and bad.

I reached out a lot during the bad times as I’m sure you’ll recall. The times when my friends were hiding groceries in my car so the kids wouldn’t know I couldn’t afford to buy food. The times I cried on the phone with the oil company just to keep the house warm in the bitter cold winter. The times I didn’t know how I would get through a morning, let alone a day, a week, a month or a year. The times I was so lost, so without a path out, so directionless, so hopeless, so empty inside, I wanted to die.

I called out for you in my mind, dad. In the quiet stillness of the spaces in between waking and dreaming. I heard you. I heard your voice telling me to snap out of it. To get up. To get over it. To move on. I heard your voice telling me that people with “real problems” wished for problems like mine. I heard your voice saying “ok, so this is hard, don’t do it anymore… do the next thing. You need to figure out what that is, and then you need to do it. Nothing will change when all you do is feel sorry for yourself.”

You never felt sorry for yourself. You were no victim. When mom left, you didn’t wallow in the new reality of being a single dad with five young kids who’d been abandoned. You went to court to make sure we were all yours. You took us for haircuts, to buy clothes, to the dentist and doctors appointments, to the grocery store, and in my case, on account of the fact that I was so infamously ill-behaved you took ME to work with you because there wasn’t a babysitter in all the world who would keep a little fucking brat monster like me for more than a week (think Chucky meets Malachai and then sprinkle in Veruca Salt and all the Little Rascals rolled into one).

You made it to our plays and our field hockey games. You even made it to watch me read an award winning essay on what it meant to be an American. I saw you crying you know. I know you didn’t think I did, but I did. I just never said anything. You never wanted us to see you cry, so I didn’t want to make you feel bad.

You showed up for everything for all 5 of us. You figured out what was next, and then you did it.

And in many ways, in doing so — you showed me that I could do that too. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, and didn’t believe that I could, until that is… when all of the sudden, I was.

So, about that — you see, that brings me to the thing I’m really writing to tell you about. The thing I’m super proud of. The thing I think you’ll be super proud of too. And yeah, yeah, I’ve totally buried the lead, but that’s ok, because that other stuff still needed to be said.

A few days ago, I was invited to attend a briefing at the White House.

“A briefing at the White House…”

It’s like saying I was invited to join U2 on stage, or Brad Pitt on set, or Aaron Judge in the dugout. Now, I’m not sure if you know who any of those people are given the fact that you passed away in 2011, so for you, I’ll say it was the equivalent of being asked to golf with Tom Watson.

What I experienced at the White House is still so unbelievably surreal, hazy and dreamlike, I don’t think I’ll ever do it justice, but I will try.

If you have been watching dad, you know that I’ve been to the White House more than a dozen times in the last four years (yes, it was well always worth the time and the personal expense, I promise), but this was immediately very, very different than any other time I’d been there.

I’ve been invited to meetings in the past, but they’ve always been at the Executive Office Building, not the White House itself. And so, whenever I’ve done that, I’ve entered through the same security gates and whatnot, so I now know where I’m going and how to get there.

As I headed in that direction however, I was stopped and told that I needed to head down the driveway to the next gate. ‘The NEXT GATE?!? But the next gate is all the way down by the…’ I thought. ‘The next gate looks like it basically goes straight into the… the… it can’t be… so, I’m just gonna walk to that next gate and I’m sure it won’t be the… holy shit… I’m about to walk into the actual White House. The west wing of the WHITE HOUSE!!’ Dad — it was the West Wing!!

I started shaking. What was even happening? A few years ago I was looking around at what had become of me, of my life, thinking there was nothing more for me. The spirited, sassy, spunky, pain in the ass I’d always been was gone. The interminable dreariness of my mind-numbingly monochromatic life was consuming me whole. I didn’t even have the personal fortitude to dream of being anything more.

A few short years ago it was a good day when I was merely resigned to the monotony of my colorless life, because it meant I wasn’t actively seeking self-harming remedies for ending it.

Dad, a few short years ago I had lost myself and lost my way. I genuinely thought… for good.

And yet there I was, a confident 50 year old single mom with the deed to my house newly in my name only, on that soft DC December morning, nervously, excitedly and proudly, walking into the West Wing of the White House. What a fucking trip, right?

Sorry, sorry, I meant friggin. Sheesh.

I was greeted and ushered into the Roosevelt Room to join a very small number of my fellow digital social media creators (think of us like newscasters without being on the actual news) who were also in attendance.

The weight of the room hit me like a two-by-four. My mind started running a playlist of all the historic moments I’d seen take place there. I know so many of the images I was replaying came from watching the nightly news with you, when none of the other kids wanted to.

I remembered seeing Obama sitting at that table. Pelosi, Schumer, McConnell, McCarthy, I even thought I remembered seeing Reagan in that room once.

And there I was all those years later, in that very room. Invited to BE in that room. Not exactly knowing why yet, but knowing at the same time that I belonged there. Somehow, I just felt sure I deserved to be there.

I wasn’t the scared, sad, insecure woman I’d let myself become after you died, I was the confident, independent, resilient, no bullshit bully buster I had been as a young girl, when I took those metal garbage can lids and bashed them together to scare those idiots away from harassing my big sister.

They set our seats in advance, and my spot was in the center of the table, facing a door I did not yet know, led directly to the Oval Office. Craziness, dad. Utter craziness.

And then we were greeted and briefed by several key figures in the communications department of the administration. Each of them telling each of us in varying degrees, that the work we had done and continue to do, matters. That it makes a difference. That we were special. That we were “leaders.” That they were looking to us to continue to be the kinds of voices on the left which hold truth to power. The kinds of voices people could and should trust.

We talked about the President’s legacy. We talked about all of the administration’s incredible accomplishments. We talked about that asshole Trump invariably trying to take credit for all of it. (Tell me you know that f’ng conman won again, actually don’t — you’re better off not knowing).

It was just mind blowing to hear all of these extremely senior and important people acknowledging the work we had all done independently. It was hard not to cry, but believe it or not — I didn’t.

Ok, not during that part anyway.

We spent a couple of hours discussing the path forward, in our content, for the party and for the country, and then they asked us if we’d like to maybe ya know — meet the President. Have a gander at the Oval, which as it turned out, was right beyond that door I’d been looking at the whole time.

My heart skipped a beat. The OVAL OFFICE!!! Can you even imagine it, dad? I know you worked for the government for a really long time, and maybe you knew a whole bunch of folks who’d been in that room, but your own kid?!!? And it was ME?!?

I was getting nervous. Was I going to make a fool out of myself in the Oval? Trip? Say something dumb? Freeze? Uggh. I hated the uncertainty of not knowing how I’d react. I was so hoping something would snap me out of it. Something would make me just chill out.

Suddenly the door opened, and in walked the President. We thought we’d been waiting to see him, but he came in to see us. He stood across the conference table (his hand placed on the back of the chair I had been sitting in!!!), and chatted with us for quite a while.

He said that he saw what we were doing out there. That he knew we made a difference. That we were standing up and fighting for democracy. He said that there are the people who run away when there’s a fire crying out for help, and there are folks who run towards the fire to see who they can help. He said we were the latter.

I cannot describe what it felt like to hear the leader of the free world say those things, about the work I’ve been doing, because I’ve been doing this work BECAUSE I believe in this country. Because I believe in democracy.

I felt seen. I felt important. I felt reaffirmed. I felt legitimized. I felt appreciated. I felt comforted. I felt as if all the questions which have been swirling in my mind since the election about what I wanted to change moving into 2025 and beyond - were answered. The President of the United States was telling me that I was on the right path. That the changes I had recently made to what I was doing, were the right ones. That the relationships I had come to an end with, ended for a reason.

He came over to our side and stood shoulder to shoulder with me for some photos, and when a friend said “She’s gonna cry” in reference to me… well — I did just that. Shocker, right dad?

And what did Joe do? My third one to be exact? He hugged me. He consoled me. He was kind to me. And it truly did make me feel better.

I think we all assumed that that was the end of our time with the president. We were wrong.

He then asked if we might like to come and see his office. Ya know - the Oval one.

We lined up and were introduced to him one by one. He asked each person where “home was”, and then he talked to them about whatever struck their fancy.

One thing I’ve long since learned about Joe Biden, dad… that man loves to talk to people.

He loves to hear their stories. He’s a really good listener. Not a damn thing wrong with his mind. He’s sharp as a tack.

I hadn’t yet figured out what I was gonna say as my turn was approaching.

I had already gotten to meet him three times at that point which is just absolutely insane to say out loud, but also just true. So I didn’t have much of a game plan other than to just chat.

And then it was my turn. I told him where home was, he said he knew exactly where it was because he “married a Jersey girl.” to which I responded, “I always assumed Jill was from Pennsylvania because she’s an Eagles fan, but I guess she’s probably from South Jersey.” And then I continued, “the fact that you’re an Eagles fan might be the only thing I don’t like about you, Mr. President.” Yeah, I went there, dad.

And we joked a bit about football, which again is just like what the heck, are you kidding me? But then his tone changed, and he became more serious. He asked me to tell him something else about myself.

And then it hit me. I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted to say to the President of the United States of America, while I was standing in the Oval Office.

I wanted to tell him about you.

I said, “my dad came to this country as a teenager from Lebanon, looking for that shining city on a hill. He loved this country so much, he spent his entire adult career, 50 years, working for our department of defense as a weapons engineer…” that’s when the president’s face changed dad. He had this look of marvel and deep appreciation. For you. For your story. I think he said something like “that’s wonderful”, and then I finished by saying, or at least attempting to say, “my dad believed in the promise of America. He instilled that belief in me. And and you sir… you…” oh shit, the tears were coming, I tried to push them down, tried to forge ahead, but it was me, telling my favorite President, about my dad. There was nothing that was gonna stop the flood from coming. “… you sir… (through tears) embody… that… prom…ise… too.”

And then I was full on sobbing.

And what did the President do?

Can you guess?

Yep. He hugged me.

Again.

He said something like “God love ya kid.” And I think he said “It’s gonna be alright. Take care of yourself.”

I exited the Oval Office and reunited with my peers. Each one of us was changed by the moment. The changes were palpable.

I left knowing I got to tell him about you. That I got to introduce the President to my dad. I got to tell him your story. And he was rightfully impressed.

I’m so glad I got to do that dad.

After all, you were the reason I was there.

I know I was a pain in the ass. I know I had a fresh mouth. I know I had trouble with authority and following rules. I know you were worried about whether or not I would ever make anything out of my life. But I also know that you always believed I would. I also know that you always understood that my mind was unique. That my love for government and politics was special. And that my sassy precociousness and stubborn streak were actually going to prove themselves to be assets. If only I could channel them in the right way.

I also know that I never gave up on myself even when times were the hardest. I know that in many ways I was able to get up and get out of the darkness and the struggle, because I was your daughter. Because you are my dad.

And while I so wish you were here with a can of WD-40, a roll of electrical tape, and a bunch of random ingredients from the grocery store, so that you could see all that I’ve accomplished for yourself, I know that having you for a dad, having the time on this earth I had with you, knowing that my children will inherit your strength and your love for our country, means that I’m the luckiest girl in all the world.

I didn’t need a visit to the Oval Office for that to be true. But boy oh boy, was that a moment to treasure forever.

My dad, my hero, my warrior, my protector, my motivator, my center, my sounding board, my strength and my truth… I love you. I miss you.

And I am eternally grateful the stars made you mine.

I hope I made you proud. I think I probably did. But I think you were probably proud of me anyway and you would’ve been no matter what.

All those political debates we used to have on the drive up to college in Boston and back… they paved the way for a moment I’ll never forget.

And ironically, for your first visit to the Oval Office.

All my love always,

Joanne

And in your honor dad, I’m gonna close this one out with a song I know you loved.

And I’m still waiting on the photos from the White House. We weren’t allowed to have our phones (somehow I survived). As soon as I get them, I promise I’ll show you.

❤️