told things like “This is our Blue Room,” our guide gesturing into a vast hall that
was five times the size of our Blue Room back home. The Queen’s head usher
one day would take me, my mother, and the girls through the palace Rose
Garden, which contained thousands of flawlessly blooming flowers and occupied
nearly an acre of land, making the few rosebushes we so proudly kept outside the
Oval Office suddenly seem a tad less impressive. I found Buckingham Palace
breathtaking and incomprehensible at the same time.
On that first visit, we were escorted to the Queen’s private apartment and
shown into a sitting room where she and Prince Philip stood waiting to receive
us. Queen Elizabeth II was eighty-two years old then, diminutive and graceful
with a delicate smile and her white hair curled regally away from her forehead.
She wore a pale pink dress and a set of pearls and kept a black purse draped
properly over one arm. We shook hands and posed for a photo. The Queen
politely inquired about our jet lag and invited us to sit down. I don’t remember
exactly what we talked about after that—a little bit about the economy and the
state of affairs in England, the various meetings Barack had been having.
There’s an awkwardness that comes with just about any formally arranged
meeting, but in my experience it’s something you need to consciously work your
way past. Sitting with the Queen, I had to will myself out of my own head—to
stop processing the splendor of the setting and the paralysis I felt coming face-to-
face with an honest-to-goodness icon. I’d seen Her Majesty’s face dozens of times
before, in history books, on television, and on currency, but here she was in the
flesh, looking at me intently and asking questions. She was warm and personable,
and I tried to be the same. The Queen was a living symbol and well practiced at
managing it, but she was as human as the rest of us. I liked her immediately.
Later that afternoon, Barack and I floated around at the palace reception,
eating canapés with the other G20 leaders and their spouses. I chatted with
Angela Merkel of Germany and Nicolas Sarkozy of France. I met the king of
Saudi Arabia, the president of Argentina, the prime ministers of Japan and
Ethiopia. I did my best to remember who came from which nation and which
spouse went with whom, careful not to say too much for fear of getting anything
wrong. Overall, it was a dignified, friendly affair and a reminder that even heads
of state are capable of talking about their children and joking about the British
weather.
At some point toward the end of the party, I turned my head to find that
Queen Elizabeth had surfaced at my elbow, the two of us suddenly alone