Every once in a while, we need an Obama moment. Last night, Stephen Colbert drenched us in memory and reminded us of what presence once looked like in the White House. Class. Big smiles. Rock-solid health. Intelligence. Youth. We were reminded of what it felt like when a president seemed normal, in a way ordinary people could understand and connect with. Articulate, respected, observant, humble and shrewd. A man comfortable in his own skin without the constant need for self-glorification.
It wasn’t simply the lighting, the staging, the polished set or the perfect teeth. It ran far deeper than appearance. It was confidence. The ease of a man who had lived many lives within one life — a reader, a father, a basketball fanatic, a thinker, a leader. A man of interests and accomplishments who never needed to pound his chest every five minutes to remind the world he existed. There was no desperate “look at me” performance in the room. Just composure and humanity.
I watched early this morning and could not help but contrast it with the ongoing cognitive test bravado of Donald Trump. A test so elementary that most people score near perfect with barely a pause. I watched a young man walk viewers through the questions one by one, and the absurdity became even clearer. Of all the questions likely to challenge an aging senior, perhaps recalling a short list of objects near the end would trip a few people up. The rest are painfully basic. Yet here we are, listening to a former president boast to children about passing it as though he had solved cold fusion.
Watching Trump celebrate the test felt less like leadership and more like theatre drifting toward parody. If forced to sit for the exam publicly and without handlers circling nearby, I suspect he would collapse into grievance before the exam is over, curl into a legal defence, and demand that Todd Blanche and the Justice Department pursue another imaginary conspiracy against him.
We are where we are because Trump has been visibly unwell for years. Not merely politically corrosive, but spiritually exhausting. In all my years, I have never encountered another human being quite like him. I have known con men. Music hustlers trying to steal publishing rights. Fast talkers angling for commissions from gigs they had nothing to do with. Small-time operators who survived on smoke, mirrors and borrowed confidence.
But Trump exists in a category all his own.
In my lifetime, I encountered two personalities larger than the room itself — Ronnie Hawkins and drag performer Craig Russell. Both were loud, hilarious and gloriously over-the-top. Men who could silence a room with sheer force of personality. You listened, laughed, shook your head and moved on richer for the encounter. Their energy entertained. It lifted the air around them.
Trump is the opposite force.
He arrives like a battlefield convoy, tanks dragging thick rims of mud behind them, flattening whatever lies in their path. A soul-sucking vampire that never truly sleeps. Chaos follows him the way smoke follows fire. Wherever he settles, destruction settles with him. Relationships. Institutions. Trust. Language itself. Then, after consuming everything within reach, he demands more.
And then came the preview of the Obama Presidential Center. Rarefied air surrounding an ex-president who still seems connected to people instead of addicted to worship. Acres of the presidency handed back to the public rather than converted into a shrine to ego. No grotesque gold statue. No half-man, half-product mythology cast in bronze. Instead, memorabilia from campaigns, handwritten letters, community artwork, and signs carried by ordinary citizens who saw hope in politics for the first time in years.
Barack Obama always hit the mark for me. Basketball and the Chicago Bulls during the era of Michael Jordan. Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles walking through the White House like neighbours dropping by for supper. A beautiful family living under that historic roof with grace and dignity intact. And beneath it all, a sly sense of humour somewhere between George Carlin and Dave Chappelle — sharp, observant, effortless. The kind of cool that only comes from genuinely being human.
“Welcome back, Mr. President,” as sung by Whitney Houston.
You still the man.
(The Obama Presidential Center officially opens to the public on June 19, 2026 (Juneteenth) in Chicago’s Jackson Park. The grand opening ceremony is scheduled for June 18, 2026.)
Expect weeks of interest, interviews and activities. And 3000 plus, Truth |Social lunatic rants!
So true. I inhaled this morning and said to myself, "Sweet Jesus, there is a path forward."
It felt so good