To the editor:

Dear Mr. President,

I remember the first time I reached out to you. I wrote to you in the mid-1990s as a first- or second-grader. When I received your response, I felt so special. I was so proud to share that crisp white card with gold seal and your signature with my class for show and tell. My first time exercising my liberties as an American and participating in our representative democracy was as an impressionable elementary school student.

Your kind response, Mr. President, helped me realize that I have a voice, that I can make a difference. Thank you for giving a young girl faith in our democracy all those years ago. Today, that young girl is serving her first term as her town’s youngest council member ever — with future ambitions.

“There is no sadder sight than a young pessimist, except an old optimist.” — Mark Twain

You, Mr. President, were among those who deterred me from the temptation of pessimism. Pessimism has been the demise of many great young minds.

My experience with you, Mr. President, was so noble, so kind, so uplifting — which is why it saddens me that my child has had the opposite experience with reaching out to you.

Dear Mr. President,

I am 6 years old and I live in Indiana. I am very concerned with what is happening to the Amazon Rain Forest. Don’t (you) know that trees let us breathe? My mother explained to me that the Amazon Rain Forest is the lungs of the world. I wonder why these fires have continued at such crazy rates since May. How are we supposed to breathe without lungs?

When I asked my mother why this is happening, she told me that people in Brazil are burning the Amazon Rain Forest to make room for farmland, to raise cattle, for people to eat. When she picked me up from school yesterday I told my mother that I needed an after-school snack, but no beef! We then discussed what else we could do to save the Amazon Rain Forest. My mom told me that she had been reaching out to our representatives. Then, with a twinkle of nostalgia, she suggested that we try to call you, Mr. President.

Siri was able to find the phone number to the White House. We waited on hold for a few minutes while a polite recording periodically reminded us that, “One of our volunteers will be with you …”

Soon, a cheerful voice answered. My mother explained that I was the true caller and assured your volunteer representative that she was on speakerphone. The woman on the receiver very pleasantly attempted to coerce me into conversation, but I was feeling very shy by then.

After a moment, my mother intervened as to not waste too much of the White House volunteer’s time. She asked me, “Do you want me to tell her buddy?” I nodded. Still on speakerphone my mom explained why I wanted to call, using my words “shocked” and “scared” about what was happening in the Amazon Rain Forest. My little sister asked, “What can we do?” One would think this would be a very insightful question from a 4-year old, but the once-pleasant volunteer was not impressed.

Several mentions were made that we were all on speakerphone for this exciting exercise of civic involvement. However, the response was the opposite of what we expected: “I cannot answer questions but I will pass along the message — but I am troubled that your children are ‘scared’ of something that is not of much concern. Please do not frighten the children.” (click)

Dear Mr. President,

I slowly lowered the phone, feeling humiliated in front of my two young children. My son asked me, “What happened?” And all I could say was, “I think she hung up.” He asked me, “Why?” I could not think of a way to be truthful to my child while also maintaining respect for you, Mr. President, so, I said nothing.

Remembering the optimism once instilled in me as a young child, I had suggested that my son call you, Mr. President. After all, isn’t that what a representative democracy is all about? Of course, I didn’t expect you to answer yourself, but I did expect a certain level of grace and decency to be minimal criteria of someone representing the most powerful person on earth.

I would like for my children to grow up with similar admiration for their President that I once did. Be it you or the people you choose to answer for you, the truth is that you belittled a mother in front of her children. You ignored a child’s voice. Worst of all, you stifled the ambition and curiosity of a young mind — on its inaugural interaction with democracy.

My childhood experience ignited my optimism. I hope to God you have not extinguished my child’s optimism. I think you owe my children an apology, Mr. President.

Regretfully,

Anna Hofstetter and children, Brown County