![]() ![]() ![]() I kneel before his grave, scanning the name-Lawrence “Law” Hamilton, President, husband, father, son-on his tombstone. As I walk up to my father’s grave, I know the silence will soon be broken by the twenty-one rifle shots from the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The wind is freezing, flapping my gabardine at my calves. My father is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, one of three presidents there. The day I become the forty-sixth president of the United States. It seemed fitting that I pay a visit to my father today. ![]() ![]() I grab my long black coat and slip my arms into the sleeves, nodding at Wilson at the door. “Likewise.” I shake his hand, then the senior officer’s hand as the nuclear codes are handed to me, and they leave.Ĭustomarily, the departing president holds a brunch for the incoming president on Inaugural Day. With him is an aide with the nuclear football that will be passed on to me-as of noon, the man who carries it will be my shadow for the next four years. And step out to the living room of Blair House to greet the senior officer from White House Military, who’s here to hand over the top-secret codes in case of a nuclear strike. ![]()
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