Hello, first-graders.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Thank you.

Thank you.  You know, they said this day would never come.  They said my sights were too high.  They said this homeroom was too smelly, too hyperactive to ever unite around a common purpose.  But if there is anyone on this colored-square carpet who doubts that America is a place where anything is possible, that the dream of our founding daddies is still alive, behold:

 My new puppy, Hope. 

 With a father from Chicago, a mother…well, also from Chicago…I was never the likeliest candidate for a puppy.  For months I was teased, even derided for talking of Hope.  But I always knew that this dream was not blind optimism.  It wasn't ignoring the enormity of the task ahead.  It was the knowledge that something better awaited me I had the courage to reach for it, to make my bed for it, to threaten to throw tantrums on Oprah for it. 

 Hope is what I saw in the window of the pet store, eyes yearning for change.  Hope is what I heard yelping in the middle of the night as I was dreaming of a brighter future:  a future not of line leaders or cabooses, but of a united lunch line.  Hands on our hips and fingers on our lips.  Together.  

 With hard work, Malia and I were able to make this happen – but difficulties lie ahead.  Let it be said by our teachers, by our lunch ladies, that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end.  With our eyes fixed on the top of those monkey bars and God's grade upon us, may we carry this puppy beyond the White House walls to sleepovers across the D.C. area.  

If you want to contribute to the cause, Dog Food for Hope and Change and Unity and Dreams and Rainbows, I'll be taking donations in the back at the end of naptime.  Thank you.  Yes, we can, first grade.  Yes we can.