And it seems only fair that I answer my own question.
I’d want you to know that often, the small are truly the mighty. That their stories may be eclipsed by a dominant sun, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t ours to discover, auroras in the predawn hours of morning. We should get up early. We should look for them. We should let the complicated truth of their lives wash over us and orient our spirits toward hope.
I’d want you to know that great Americans aren’t only people who existed long ago, their faces captured on a frame of black-and-white film. Great Americans live. Whatever year you are reading this in, know that you are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, people who see you and depend on your efforts. Our ancestors made a way in the wilderness for us, descendants they didn’t even know, but whose existence was assured.
They built benches upon which we can rest, so that we will not be discouraged in doing good, just as those who have come before us were not discouraged in doing good.
Upon this path are the signs that point the way to liberty and justice for all. Some of the signs are but a child’s drawing affixed low on the branch of a tree. Others are written in the neat cursive of a teacher, placed prominently for everyone to notice. Some look like signs of protest, hand-lettering drawn on a placard. Some are simply an arrow, pointing straight ahead. This way, they say. This way down the path they forged through adversity, through the great unknown, through resistance, illness, trials, and tribulation.
I’d want you to know that the weight of the world does not rest on your shoulders alone. Our unique skills, talents, and abilities are meant to be used in ways that only we can.
Alexander Hamilton, Gouverneur Morris, and Katharine Lee Bates were incredible writers, and their words made America.
Clara Brown and Rebecca Mitchell had the audacity to continue to hope, despite all evidence to the contrary, and the perseverance never to quit even when people told them they should.
Inez Milholland and Maria de Lopez used their speaking and organizational skills to help create meaningful change.
Claudette Colvin and Rosa Parks were willing to stand up to injustice, even though it might have looked like they were remaining seated.
Anna Jeanes and Julius Rosenwald knew that a lasting legacy didn’t have to mean your name on the side of a building, but that it came from improving the condition of others.
Daniel Inouye and Norman Mineta knew the power of consensus building, and what an apology can do.
Septima Clark and Virginia Randolph knew that education is liberation. And an educated population is very difficult to oppress.
I—and the small and mighty people in this book—want you to know that being a great American isn’t dependent on fame or fortune. It doesn’t require your name to be recorded in the annals of history or to appear on a ballot.
I’d want you to know that the American experiment is full of ill-equipped people, people with the “wrong” faces and the “wrong” life circumstances, who just went for it. They just tried something no one had done before. They were willing to let other people watch them fail. They just did the next right thing.
I’d want you to know that you should keep going. That often the biggest breakthroughs happen after the darkest nights.
I’d want you to know that despite all the things Gouverneur Morris got wrong—like the unfortunate whalebone—there was something he got very, very right. America at her best is just. She is peaceful. She is good. And she is free. And it is us, the small and the mighty, who make America great.
Not again, but always.
I’d want you to know that there will come a moment in your life, a moment when you will be asked to choose: will I retreat, or will I move forward with courage? You’ll realize, just like the people in the pages of this book, that every experience you’ve had, every setback and heartbreak, every triumph and joy, will all be used. The character that you’ve been cultivating will be called upon, and when that moment comes, whenever it is, I hope you’ll rise to it.
I’d want you to know that for some of you, that moment is today.
I’d want you to know that we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
The small. And the mighty.
Acknowledgments
This book was years in the making. No one could have guessed where I was headed when this voyage departed the shore, most especially me. To all of you who waited patiently while I researched, wrote, revised, honed, and rewrote this manuscript, thank you. I hope the wait has been worth it.
Writing an acknowledgments section feels like writing an Oscar acceptance speech. You want to thank everyone you’ve ever known so that they all know how much they mean to you. But no pressure, no pressure.
To Chris, who is a model of selflessness and service. To Cullen, Eleanor, Margaret, and Louisa, of whom I am so proud, and who I hope will be proud of me. To my mom, Julie, who has patiently listened to history facts she surely does not care about for twenty-nine long years. To Carolyn, who greatly regrets not letting me pressure her into spending hours on synchronized swimming routines, and to Sara, who gets things done like no one I’ve ever met and will jazz scat while doing it.
This is for Lexi, who has the best attitude on planet Earth, and for my entire team at SME, who, in the words of Grace Banker, just “managed, managed, managed” while I devoted much of my time to working on this manuscript.
This is for Adam Grant and Richard Pine, to whom I owe my deepest thanks.
It’s for Helen Healey-Cunningham and Katherine Howe, who challenged my ideas and helped shape this book into something meaningful.
It’s for Heather Jackson and Kari Anton, who helped me make friends with some of the characters on the pages you just read.
This is for Adrienne, who sends me the best memes and who always laughs at mine. And for James, who is small and mighty.
This is for Carlos Whittaker, who just kept saying “You got this” whenever I needed him to, for Nicole Walters, who is the cheerleader you hope will always be at the game, and for Lauren Kachinske, who is willing to kick me in the butt. This is for Mary Wagner, one of my oldest and dearest, who did me an incredible favor.
This is for Hilary Rushford, Layla Palmer, Jenna Fischer, Angela Kinsey, Kendra Adachi, Abi Ayres, Dani Coke Balfour, Brittany Ratelle, Shanté Cofield, Ashley Spivey, Laura Pinkston, Jessica Malaty Rivera, Brittany Richman, Andrea Reeve, Kristina Kuzmic, Emily Freeman, Mary Marantz, Annie Downs, Becky Kennedy, Emily Calandrelli, Mosheh Oinounou, Melissa Urban, Nora McInerny, Kathleen Ashmore, MeiLi Coon, Tim Whittaker, and V Spehar, who make my life better each and every day just for being themselves.
This is for Jermaine Fowler, JeMar Tisby, and Jasmine Holmes, with my sincerest thanks.
This is for Governerds everywhere, far and wide. It is my great privilege to know you and to be a part of the movement you are propelling.
And finally, to the Governerd Book Club, I like you and I love you.
Notes
Introduction
“From Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, [4 July 1804],” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-26-02-0001-0248.
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