One advantage to working in a bookstore is that when new books of
interest come out, I’m among the first to know. This week, I was
surprised to see that we had a brand-new children’s book that had been
written by President Barack Obama. Naturally, it piqued my interest, and
after leafing through it, I was so mesmerized that I couldn’t resist
buying a copy for myself.
In Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters,
Obama eloquently addresses young Sasha and Malia, lavishing tender
words of encouragement upon them and honoring 13 groundbreaking
Americans in the process. I’m guessing that 13 were chosen as an homage
to the 13 colonies, though I don’t know if that’s the case. At any rate,
this is a patriotic book that is as educational as it is heartwarming.
It’s oversized, a hardcover about a foot high, making it all the more
appropriate as a coffee table book. That really is what I imagine this
being, as a picture book by the sitting President is certainly a
conversation starter, and the illustrations are absolutely stunning.
I’ve previously encountered Loren Long, who impressed me mightily with Drummer Boy,
a sweet story about a toy drummer who is unwittingly sent on an epic
journey to points all around town before finally making his way back to
the boy who loves him. Long wrote that story as well as illustrating it,
while he also furnished pictures for an edition of Frank McCourt’s
gentle Angela and the Baby Jesus.
Long’s acrylic paintings are gorgeous, full of light and warmth and
personality. They have a very realistic quality to them, and all of the
historical figures in Of Thee I Sing are instantly recognizable to those familiar with their faces.
We also see the Obama family, save Michelle, to whom the book is
dedicated. The title page features Barack, as does the final page,
though we never get a very clear view of him; in one picture, we see the
back of his head as he watches his daughters frolic across the lawn,
while in the other, a bit of his face is visible as he stands between
his daughters, their hands clasped in his. Family dog Bo appears on the
cover and first page, and he has the back inside flap to himself. But
the girls are clearly visible throughout the book.
For most of
the book, Obama and Long follow a basic format. On the left page, we
have a simple question: “Have I told you that you are _____ ?” At the
end of that sentence, or one very similarly phrased, is a particular
admirable trait that he sees in his daughters, and he expands upon his
thoughts on the next page with lyrical reflections on how one particular
American exemplifies that quality.
Indeed, each sketch feels
like a self-contained poem, with stirring language and deliberate line
breaks. For instance, we have, “A man named Jackie Robinson played
baseball / and showed us all / how to turn fear to respect / and respect
to love. Of Helen Keller, he writes, “Though she could not see or hear,
/ she taught us to look at and listen to each other.” And Neil
Armstrong: “He watched the world from way up high / and we watched his
lunar landing leaps, / which made us brave enough / to take our own big,
bold strides.”
For Long’s part, he starts off with Malia and
Sasha on the left side against a plain white backdrop, initially joined
by a little girl with a palette and paintbrushes, as the first word
Obama explores is “creative”. On each page that follows, they are joined
by one more child who correlates to the main subject of the two-page
rumination. Meanwhile, each right-hand page features a
more-than-half-page portrait of the historical American in question.
Each is totally unique, not only faithfully representing the subject but
setting him or her in a context that powerfully illustrates the
description of his or her accomplishments.
My favorite of the
portraits is of Lakota medicine man Sitting Bull. In fact, it was this
painting that decided me on buying the book. Reminiscent of the style of
Bev Doolittle, the picture is immediately recognizable as the somber
face on the 28-cent postage stamp released in 1989. And yet it’s not a
face, it’s a landscape. Or rather, it’s both. The rugged western terrain
serves as the backdrop for his craggy face, with grazing horses
accentuating the cheekbones and a pair of buffalo underneath windblown
trees standing in for his eyes. Arresting. So is the portrait of Maya
Lin, whose face is merely seen reflected in the Vietnam Veterans
Memorial she designed, and there’s a sense of wonder and enchantment in
the sight of a disheveled Albert Einstein standing under the stars,
pencil in one hand and paper in the other, his hair ruffled by a gentle
breeze.
Some of the entries are no-brainers: George Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr. and, of course, my birthday buddy, Abraham Lincoln.
Others caught me more by surprise: painter Georgia O’Keeffe, singer
Billie Holiday, humanitarian Jane Addams, activist Cesar Chavez. But
each figure is treated as someone with important lessons to teach the
future generations of children depicted, along with youths of the past,
on a two-page spread that shows the incredible diversity of cultures and
interests at play in America.
Of Thee I Sing is a book
that aims to inspire greatness by showing today’s children how many
different ways there are to make an impact. It celebrates “People who
have made bright lights shine / by sharing their unique gifts / and
giving us the courage to lift one another up, / to keep up the fight, /
to work and build upon all that is good / in our nation.” Obama never
mentions his presidency in the book, nor do the illustrations allude to
it; this is just an American dad with a solid grasp of history passing
some words of wisdom along to his daughters. His parting thought? “And
have I told you that I love you?”
Have I told you that I love this book?
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