Dreams From My Father

"Like a spy behind enemy lines,..."

I had my own office, my own secretary, money in the bank... I would catch my reflection in the elevator doors-see myself in a suit and tie, a briefcase in my hand-and for a split second I would imagine myself as a captain of industry, barking out orders, closing the deal, before I remembered who it was that I had told myself I wanted to be and felt pangs of guilt for my lack of resolve... I felt the idea of becoming an organizer slipping away from me.

From whom shall I seek wisdom?

Barack, I am your father.