When ‘Presidential’ meant something

If you’ve read this newspaper over the past six months, you know my love for this nation and my deep passion for its history.

My parents gave me the gift of travel. I’ve stood in awe beneath the Hagia Sophia Mosque in Istanbul, touched the 2,500-year-old pillars of the Parthenon and walked among the ancient stones of Stonehenge. I even played Frisbee in the Soviet Union.

The timeline of my life is measured by moments the world will never forget: the Vietnam War, the Cold War, the murder of John Lennon, the AIDS crisis, the Chernobyl disaster, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the September 11 attacks and so many more moments to celebrate and mourn.

I could probably write my own version of We Didn’t Start the Fire.

The blessing of seeing the world, and of intertwining my own life with history, is my belief that I live in the greatest time and place in human history.

Through all of it, I carried a quiet, steady idea of what it meant to be presidential. To me, it meant carrying the mantle of the Founding Fathers and representing a country that, for all its flaws, has so often been a force for good in the world.

That image was shaped early. It was reinforced by Ronald Reagan standing at the Berlin Wall and challenging Mikhail Gorbachev. It was there in the grainy clips of John F. Kennedy declaring that we would go to the moon “in this decade.” It lived on in the decades of quiet service Jimmy Carter gave after leaving office. And it was visible when George W. Bush stood at Ground Zero in 2001 and helped unite a grieving nation.

Those moments formed something powerful in me. They left me with the belief that the presidency was not just a position, but a standard. A way of speaking. A way of carrying oneself. An understanding that the words of a president carry weight far beyond the moment in which they are spoken.

For most of my life, the meaning of presidential felt steady.

But over the past few days, it has felt like that idea has been grabbed by the throat, knocked to the ground and torn apart.

When the leader of the greatest nation in human history uses vulgar language in official communication …

When he mocks the faith held sacred by millions, including the devotion I witnessed in worshippers on their knees inside that mosque in Turkey …

When he uses his platform to call other Americans “stupid,” low IQ, “worthless” or “little piggy.”

When he speaks casually about wiping out entire civilizations…

When he says, “Open the f***ing strait … or you’ll be living in hell” …

When he threatens to destroy the infrastructure a nation depends on to feed its people …

When a lifelong public servant dies and the response is, “I’m glad he’s dead” …

At some point, we have to ask a simple question:

What happened to being presidential?

This is not about politics. It is about tone. It is about character. It is about whether the highest office in this country still carries an expectation of restraint, dignity and respect.

You can agree or disagree with any policy. That has always been the strength of the American story. But there was once a shared understanding that the person in the Oval Office spoke not only to supporters, but for the nation.

For 61 years, I have watched presidents from both parties. I have disagreed with many of them. But I never questioned whether they understood the weight of their words.

I do now.

And I do not think I am alone.