I am beaming like a sunflower.
It is with great honor and humility that I have accepted President Obama’s invitation to the White House on April 16.
I honestly can’t think straight right now. My head is spinning as I write this diary, so please forgive the typos. What does a person wear to such an event, anyway? I do not know. But I do know this: I will be relishing in the reflective glow of one of the most admired men in the world. And that is a pretty awesome thing worth crowing about.
Shortly after receiving President Obama’s invitation, I called my mother with news that, yes, her only son (she calls me her stinker-winker-bear) will be within a stone’s throw of the most powerful man in the world.
"How did this come about?" my stunned mother said of the invitation.
"It was an invitation from the White House," I replied.
"That's kind of impressive.”
"It is," I said.
I don’t know if I will actually get to meet President Obama, a man with whom I happen to share a good deal of ideological overlap. The details of the event, like my wardrobe, are still in the works.
But the important thing is I will be there, and you won’t be.