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No different from me. No different from my daughters. I watched over time as
the girls formed friendships, finding a rapport with one another and with the
adults around them. I spent hours talking with them in a big circle, munching
popcorn and trading our thoughts about college applications, body image, and
boys. No topic was off-limits. We ended up laughing a lot. More than anything, I
hoped this was what they’d carry forward into the future—the ease, the sense of
community, the encouragement to speak and be heard.

My wish for them was the same one I had for Sasha and Malia—that in
learning to feel comfortable at the White House, they’d go on to feel comfortable
and confident in any room, sitting at any table, raising their voices inside any
group.

e’d lived inside the bubble of the presidency for more than two years
now. I looked for ways to widen its perimeter as I could. Barack and I continued
to open the White House up to more people, most especially children, hoping to
make its grandeur feel inclusive, mixing some liveliness into the formality and
tradition. Anytime foreign dignitaries came for state visits, we invited local
schoolkids to come over to take in the pomp of an official welcome ceremony
and taste the food that would be served at the state dinner. When musicians were
coming for an evening performance, we asked them to show up early to help
with a youth workshop. We wanted to highlight the importance of exposing
children to the arts, showing that it’s not a luxury but a necessity to their overall
educational experience. I relished the sight of high schoolers mingling with
contemporary artists like John Legend, Justin Timberlake, and Alison Krauss as
well as legends like Smokey Robinson and Patti LaBelle. For me, it was a
throwback to the way I’d been raised—the jazz at Southside’s house, the piano
recitals and Operetta Workshops put on by my great-aunt Robbie, my family’s
trips to downtown museums. I knew how arts and culture contributed to the
development of a child. And it made me feel at home. Barack and I swayed to
the beat together in the front row of every performance. Even my mother, who
generally steered clear of public appearances, always made her way down to the
state floor anytime music was playing.

We also added celebrations of dance and other arts to the mix, bringing in
emerging artists to showcase new work. In 2009, we’d put on the first-ever
White House poetry and spoken-word event, listening as a young composer