Page 7 of Revisions

“I told you I challenge her daily. Sometimes, that’s with debate and humor; sometimes, I make her crazy by climbing ladders. That isn’t a metaphor.”

I catch Dana giggling in the corner.

“I understand your podcast is calledThe Late Great America,” I say.

“It is.”

“Is that because you think America was better in the past?”

“Don’t you?”

“I think it was different,” I reply. “And I think every generation has entertained the idea that things were better in the past. Some things were. But it’s easy to romanticize what’s behind you or in front of you.”

“Is that what the president thinks?” Ivey asks.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask her. It’s what I believe.”

I glance over at Dana and back at Jay Ivey. He’s young. I’d guess he’s in his early thirties. It makes me wonder what part of the past he envisions would be better in the future. I admit I often think life was better before everyone marriedtheir screens. I went to dinner with my brother Doug and his kids a few months ago. My nephew spent the entire dinner wearing headphones while watching something on a tablet. I must’ve shown my irritation because Doug sighed and said it’s no different from giving a kid a coloring book. I didn’t argue. I also disagree. I think it’s healthy for kids to hear adult conversations and learn to be part of it. You can still participate while you color. Busy hands don’t cause deaf ears. Change doesn’t always equate to progress. But I think people are often so uncomfortable with change that they fail to notice how progress has helped them.

Being raised by a history teacher and married to a world leader demands that I have some knowledge of history. Although I may have spent more time working with my dad when I was younger, I always loved to listen to my mom talk about her lessons or debate with my father about politics. My mother is one of the smartest, funniest, and most thoughtful people you’ll ever meet—kind of like Candace. I know, “You always marry a woman like your mother.” If that were true, there wouldn’t be so many mother-in-law jokes.

My mom and Candace have a lot in common.

Ivey’s gaze narrows. “Does the presidentcareabout the past?”

“She’s a student of history,” I reply.

“Is she?”

“She is. Believe me, I should know. My mother was a high school history teacher. Candace has a pile of books on the table beside the bed.”

“About history?” he asks.

“Some. Lots of biographies, too. Occasionally, she enjoys thrillers.”

Candace just finished a book about an international conspiracy to overthrow the president. When I told her shemight want to take notes for her memoir, she threw the book at me.

“But she doesn’t see the value in history,” Ivey says.

“You’re asking me to speak for her. She sees value in the lessons of history and its influence.”

Dana clears her throat and raises a hand. That means Mr. Ivey gets a final question.

“Let me ask you one final question,” he says.

“Sure.”

“You can’t speakforthe president. But what doyouhope she leaves for a future America?”

“I think shehopespeople will have more opportunities, be healthier, more secure, and morehopeful.”

I exchange formal pleasantries with Ivey, nod to Dana, and leave my office. I don’t know what Jay Ivey hoped to accomplish with that conversation. And I’m not clear on why Shell pushed for the interview. I expect he’ll carve up my answers and post a handful of unique outtakes on social media. I doubt what he shares will be complimentary. I’ll get the credit from Shell for being respectful. Candace will get hammered by someone for something I said.

“Hey,” Dana calls out.

“I thought you’d be wrapping things up.”

“Dee will handle it,” Dana says. “You look annoyed.”

---