I find it really liberating to be in a place where I am a foreigner in every way. I've lived with this all my life - this divide, this bifurcation. And in Italy, I don't feel it. There's none of that tension, only the expectation I place on myself to speak the language well. I find it relaxing. Something drops away, and I observe.
Every day, women and girls are finding incredible confidence and taking risks. When they change one mind, pretty soon, they have changed one tradition. That changed tradition has changed a village. That one village has changed a country. That new reality means new opportunities for themselves and their daughters.
I have visited classrooms near military bases to learn more about what schools were doing to support their military kids. I met with teachers overseas to learn about the particular needs they face thousands of miles from America. And I listened to my own granddaughter, who dealt with her father's yearlong deployment to Iraq.
Since Beau's death, I'm definitely shattered. I feel like a piece of china that's been glued back together again. The cracks may be imperceptible-but they're there. Look closely, and you can see the glue holding me together, the precarious edges that vein through my heart. I am not the same. I feel it every day.
Back in 2008, after we'd won the election, no one really expected me to keep teaching. But I couldn't just walk away... So I did both. For eight years, that was my life's dichotomy. State receptions - and midterms. Dinner with the most powerful man on earth - and study sessions with single moms.
We've seen the struggle, and we know that most American families are dealing with some sort of struggle like we are. And I think they can relate to us, you know, as parents who are hopeful and are supportive of our son, and we will continue to be supportive. And I think that makes us more empathetic about helping other Americans.