In 1960, on a sunny fall afternoon, my father and I waited with a handful of others near an intersection in our hometown of Farrell, Pa. I was 12 years old. Presidential candidate John F. Kennedy would be passing through as he criss-crossed the East on the campaign trail. My father hoped we might catch a glimpse of him.
"He's going to be the next president," my father said as he held my hand. "You'll remember this someday."
When my father moved to the curb and raised his hand to his eyes, I stood on my tiptoes and followed his gaze. A small caravan of cars was moving toward us, a cream-colored convertible in its center. I saw a handsome man with lots of reddish hair and a sailor's tan in the back seat. As the caravan passed, my father cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, "Hey, Jack!"
The red-haired man turned, spotted my father, smiled a dazzling smile and waved. Right then I knew my dad was the most important person in the world. I'd never forget that JFK himself passed through our little town and actually noticed us.
Until May 2007, I thought that would be the closest I'd get to a U.S. president. Then my husband and I received a personal invitation to join a few Carson City neighbors to meet the young Illinois senator who'd thrown his hat into the ring.
We arrived early at the private residence, forewarned that Secret Service had established a perimeter, so we'd have to walk to the house, then be searched. I remembered that day in 1960 when my father and I could have reached out and touched Kennedy if we'd had a mind to. Times had changed, but I heard my father's words: "He's going to be the next president. You'll remember this someday."
Sen. Obama arrived in a black SUV surrounded by Secret Service agents with earpieces and impeccable suits. I had the same feeling I'd had as a girl standing on the curb with my father: Something important was happening in our hometown. Obama shook hands, bent to better hear someone, laughed at something funny. Then he was standing before me.
"We are so proud of you," I said. He took my hand, thanked me, then asked me to tell him about myself. I mumbled something about being a college English teacher, all the while feeling insignificant, as the man who would change our country's history stood before me. His face lit up; he spoke animatedly about education until he was pulled away to stand on the staircase and speak to those gathered there.
Afterward he stood with us for photos and autographed books and memorabilia. I held out a poster for him to sign. He could have just scrawled his now-famous signature, but instead, he asked me to spell my name, and then he thought for a moment before writing.
"To Marilee," he wrote in his clear, open style. "Tell your students to dream big dreams."
Just as Kennedy had seen my father, Sen. Obama had seen me.
I knew then, almost two years ago, that this tall, thin, humble man with the radiant smile would be our next president. I saw in him the promise that mothers and fathers have always made to their children in this great country: It doesn't matter who you are or where you come from; if you try your best and dream big dreams, anything is possible. I think my father saw hope and possibility when he called out to Jack Kennedy, and I, along with millions of people around the world, see hope and possibility when we call out now to President Obama.
I truly believe that he sees each and every one of us.
Godspeed, Mr. President. We wish you well.
- Marilee Swirczek lives and works in Carson City.