Nancy's Notes

The Gray House

“There is no literature or poetry in this White House. No music. No Kennedy Center award celebrations. There are no pets in this White House. No loyal man’s best friend. No Socks the family cat. No kids science fairs. No times when this president takes off his blue suit-red tie uniform and becomes human, except when he puts on his white shirt- khaki pants uniform and hides from Americans to play golf. There are no images of the first family enjoying themselves together in a moment of relaxation. No Obamas on the beach in Hawaii moments, or Bushes fishing in Kennebunkport, no Reagans on horseback, no Kennedys playing touch football on the Cape. I was thinking the other day of the summer when George H couldn’t catch a fish and all the grandkids made signs and counted the fish-less days. And somehow, even if you didn’t even like GHB, you got caught up in the joy of a family that loved each other and had fun. Where did that country go? Where did all of the fun and joy and expressions of love and happiness go? We used to be a country that did the ice bucket challenge and raised millions for charity. We used to have a president that calmed and soothed the nation instead of dividing it. And a First Lady that planted a garden instead of ripping one out. We are rudderless and joyless. We have lost the cultural aspects of a society that makes America great.

We have lost our mojo. Our fun, our happiness. The cheering on of others. The shared experiences of humanity that make it all worth it. The challenges AND the triumphs that we shared and celebrated. The unique can-do spirit Americans have always been known for. We have lost so much in so short a time.”

I’ve read the above poem written by Elayne Griffin Baker many times now, and each time it hits me harder. Because this isn’t just a poem about a house, it’s about a country. A people. A collective soul. An entire world in fact. And what happens when power is stripped of poetry, stripped of empathy, stripped of everything but self-serving force.

There was a time when joy in the White House wasn’t about frivolity. It was about relatability. A dog curled at the feet of a president. A first lady who planted a garden. A president tossing a football with his kids, or showing up to a science fair and actually caring. Those weren’t photo ops, they were signals that leadership still had a heart.

What the poem calls out so clearly is the emotional poverty of what came after. A man incapable of joy because the only emotion he traffics in is dominance. And it’s not just him. The people he lifts up, admires, and aligns himself with, from authoritarian strongmen to domestic enablers, share that same joyless core. They smirk, but they don’t smile. They gloat but never laugh with warmth. And most importantly, they don’t lead, they rule.

And it shows. Not just in policies, but in tone. In what has been normalized. In what our children are growing up believing is “strong.” We’ve watched the humanity drain out of institutions, not because feelings don’t matter, but because they do, and some people fear them.

The White House doesn’t have to be some fairytale castle of laughter and light. It’s a seat of serious responsibility. But leadership, real leadership, includes the capacity to reflect the best of us, and yes, that includes joy. The joy of connection. Of shared humanity. Of being more than the office you hold.

It is not just lose of the traditions of pets or poetry or play, it’s the lost tone of decency that made those things possible. The photo of a president laughing with his child, or high-fiving a science fair winner, isn’t fluff. It’s a signal to the world: “We’re still human here. We still feel.”

Because what message is being sent, not just to Americans, but to the world, when men are elevated who see vulnerability as weakness and joy as irrelevant? When the only thing that gives a leader pleasure is domination?

Trump may be the embodiment of this, but he’s not the only one. Across the world, we are watching the rise of strongmen who sneer at laughter unless it’s aimed downward. Who confuse control with leadership. Who rip up gardens instead of planting seeds.

And people feel it. Even if they can’t name it, they know something is missing. The absence of joy is not invisible. It’s a heaviness that settles over everything. It’s the dull ache of a country that no longer pauses to cheer for each other, to laugh, to mourn, to dream.

Personally, I think about what brings me joy. The messy, magnificent chaos of family. The way my pets greet me like I’ve returned from war after a five-minute trip to the store. The jokes that land at the dinner table. The absurd beauty of community when it works. And I wonder: what kind of leader, what kind of human, feels nothing when surrounded by those things? Or worse, feels contempt for them?

Without joy, what are we even fighting for? What are we building? Power alone is not a vision. Authority without empathy is not greatness. A nation without joy is not leading the world, it’s warning it. So let’s stop pretending this is just about policy. The mood of a leader shapes the mood of a country. And when that tone is mean, vindictive, hollow, and cold, it spreads. It settles into the bones of a nation. People are not machines. We are not here only to consume, to obey, to win. We are here to live. To feel. To connect. And to make something beautiful together, even if just for a moment.

I say this as a Canadian: because what happens in that joyless house doesn’t stay there. It echoes outward, quiet and heavy, and the whole world is carrying it now.