[These letters were compiled by Gabe Hudson, Jessica Rabinowitz, and Kevin Feeney.]
Dear Mr. President,
Some of my college buddies and some of my friends from work used to have fun buying beta fish and training them to fight each other. Mine was strong and fierce (and a lovely shade of blue). My fish, Ben, was really good at killing all of my friends’ fish (most of theirs were red).
My problem is this:
I recently bought some goldfish from my local 24-hour one-stop shopping superstore. When I brought them home and put them in the tank with my beta (Ben), everything was cool for a while, but then Ben started killing my fish. I gave him three days to stop, but he didn’t. So I flushed all of my fish down the toilet.
I’ve been wracked with guilt for days, and I just need to know: Does this make me a bad person?
Sincerely,
Matthew Trisler
Dear Mr. President,
I am a girl. I go to school in San Francisco and I am in grade 3. I wrote this letter because I have a problem. The problem is that there are a lot of wildlife animals being killed. I think the solution to the problem is to stop hunting wildlife animals. Thanks for reading my letter.
Sincerely,
Karen Yu
Dear Mr. President,
I know you’re a busy man, but there are certain things that I think need to be brought to your attention. First of all, I exist. I’m a student at Johns Hopkins University, and I’m originally from a suburb of D.C. I have an unhealthy obsession with peanut-butter sandwiches, peanut-butter cups, and other peanut-butter-related things. Also, when I was 5, I put a penny into an electrical outlet and the rest, my friend, is history.
Secondly, I’d like to bring to your attention that someone who saved my life as a child is now serving our country in Iraq to save something that life is meaningless without: our freedoms and principles.
I was in the sixth grade and was walking out of my art class at the end of the day when it happened. Some guy I barely knew started pushing me around and by the time I got to my bus there were three of them. I wasn’t really sure what to do. They started taking turns knocking me onto the ground and punching me, but then this friend of mine came out of nowhere and beat the willies out of all of them. He didn’t even mention it after that day. My family moved away the next year to get my brother and me into a better school system. Instead of being separated by a few houses, a few shrubs, and this really nice crab-apple tree, there were 40 miles of highway and nothingness between us. When you’re 11, 40 miles and 500 miles could just as well be the same thing. His parents brought him over a few times, but the drive from our old place to our new place was just long enough to be annoying. Four years later, after only a few phone conversations, I heard that he had moved to another state. I was busy with high school and new people, so it didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would.
So now here I am at college. A few months ago I see a familiar name online and I send him a message. We talked for a while and our conversation eventually came to this:
Me: So where are you now?
Friend: Iraq.
Me: No, seriously …
He enlisted to get money to pay for college. He wants to study criminology. And even though I know that you’re a busy man, I just wanted to let you know that he, too, exists.
The final thing I’d like to bring to your attention is that this letter will probably never be brought to your attention. In fact, my roommate just walked by and said, “Whoa, you’re writing a letter to the president. Why? You know he’s never going to see it.” My roommate also exists, by the way. At least, I certainly hope he does, or else I’ve been talking to myself for the last four months. Whichever the case might be, this “roommate” raises an interesting question. Have I wasted my time? I really hope I haven’t. After all, we all have voices in a democracy, but whether there’s an open ear on the other end is another question altogether. Here’s the point: Next time you look in the mirror, Mr. Bush, see past the familiar face that stares back at you. See me, see my friend in Iraq, and see my roommate.
Sincerely,
Vivek Murthy
Dear Mr. President,
When I used to make chocolate-chip cookies after school, my mom always warned me not to eat the raw dough, for I would get worms in my stomach. How is it possible that in this current decade people can eat untold amounts of ice cream containing unbaked cookie dough? Don’t they all get worms?
Sincerely,
John Delaney
Dear Mr. President,
Most of my family voted for you last time around. In fact, my sister-in-law in Ohio vehemently defends you on her account at livejournal.com. She also posts lurid stories of going to a Columbus BDSM club and getting other women to beat her with bamboo canes. From what we gather, my brother is OK with it. Not everyone in the red states is a square!
Sincerely,
Miri T. Camp
[NOTE: The opinions expressed in these letters do not necessarily represent those of McSweeney’s, Knopf, Vintage, Kevin Feeney, Jessica Rabinowitz,
or Gabe Hudson.]