Dear Mr. President (and all I know right now is that you will be a “Mr.’):

Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.

As November approaches I’m hearing that some people are threatening to leave the United States if their man is not elected.   Their bags are packed and they are ready to hop a flight right after Election Day.

Don’t get your hopes up about me, Mr. President.

You see, sir, I don’t love you, or your policies or your political party.  I love my country.  It was my country long before you ever decided to run for president and it will be my country long after your presidency is over.

My love for this country does not depend on who runs the show.  I wouldn’t call it ‘love’ if it did.

Mr. President, I am a product of this nation.  I was born here.  It has fed my bones and blood. It’s most sacred documents tell me that I am required to watch over it, to participate in it, to give it my eternal vigilance.

That is the bargain I was offered in exchange for my citizenship.  And I have accepted it.

This nation also feeds the aspirations of thousands who adopt it as their home each year,  newcomers who accept the bargain and know that the United State will exist in the bones and blood of their family as well.

I suppose there are some things you could do to drive me out, but they would have to be pretty extreme- things like credible threats to my life and my family.  So far, you don’t strike me as the type.

But if such extreme measures seem tempting later, be aware: you may drive me out, but I will do my best to make your life a holy hassle until I’m gone.  Not because my exit would be some great tragedy for the nation, but because it would be a great tragedy for me.

You see, Mr. President, this is my place in the world.  I can’t “pack up my ball and bat and go home” because this is my home.  I want no other.  If someone sets fire to my house, I’ll grab the nearest hose and try to put it out.  And if I believe some politician or group is hurting my country, I’ll do whatever I can to save it.

I might not succeed.  My heart might be forever broken by the effort.  But I see no alternative.

Grief is the price we pay for love.

And love, sir, is the great weapon you have to work with among those of us who choose to stay.  You will have to work with our love of country, reason with it, contend with it at every turn.

I don’t own a gun, but my love for this country is locked and loaded.

I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

Cross-posted at Deafening Silence.