• “It was $15”

    If you think your $5 isn't enough to make a difference in this campaign, take a minute to read the letter below.

    Dear President Obama,

    I'm writing to tell you about the $15 my family just donated to your 2012 campaign.

    It was $15. That's really all we could give.

    My husband Steve is currently a student at Temple University. Since starting his degree, three years ago, we've been living considerably below the poverty level (I keep forgetting which percent ... does it matter?). But we aren't complaining. Two healthy daughters; dusty, well-travelled backpacks in the basement; a house full of memories—a future full of hope. We're the lucky ones.

    So—we're currently "poor on money—rich in life" (as we like to say). It hasn't always been like this. My husband spent most of his life doing what he loved—playing or coaching basketball. Born in SE Iowa, he was an Academic All-American and once-upon-two-good-knees-ago, the "local town hero" of his small town—after bringing home the State Championship during high school, followed by NJCAA National Championship years later as a coach. He's a big a fan of yours by the way ... as a player, father and president ... not necessarily in that order.

    But this really wasn't supposed to be a letter about him.

    It's about this year's campaign. It's about wanting to say that $15 means something these days and deserves a moment of pause (and some words on paper) for this girl and her family of Obama fans.

    • $15 is a special pizza dinner at our local pizza stop (Poppi's in Wynnewood).

    • It's 1 1/2 tickets to see the newest film at the old-school cinema we walk our daughters to.

    • It's getting fresh fruit, instead of frozen; fresh veg, instead of canned.

    • It's tickets to the Franklin Institute in the heart of Philly. (We've never been.)

    It's all these things to a family like ours.

    I've listened with curiosity, mostly frustration, as the nation debates Citizens' United and the string of new laws that now allow the bellowing voices of private interest to drown out the sounds of tiny voices (like ours/mine). Our pebble-in-the-ocean support feels almost pointless. "Leave the campaigns to the rich," I think to myself, "Get your daughters a pizza instead."

    But I refuse to allow new laws to stop us/me from being a part of this campaign. After all, I will never be a "player" (in the political sense), but I still want to believe I can play a part.

    Then, out of the blue, there you are—shooting a jumpshot on my (Facebook) wall—and asking for "players" to join you on your home court. I had to smile, and then I couldn't resist. And so, I have relinquished those $15.

    Please know that they count. To us. Please stay in Washington. Do, in this second term, what you were not assisted/supported to do during your first term. Get this country moving/working/hoping again.

    Please continue being a champion for the middle class—I'm hoping the next pizza will be on you.

    Wishes to your brave wife and beautiful daughters from another brave wife with two beautiful daughters.

    All good things,

    Sandy & Family, PA

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