By TJ Ray

Dear Mr. Trump:

Pardon my not saying “Dear Mister President.” Truth is I’m not sure you are a president. Oh, yes, you won the election and have been sworn in. But so far there has been very little presidential about your time in office. To say it resembles a circus would not be an exaggeration.

The purpose of this note is to tell you I very much want the debt you owe me paid back.

And it is far more than you and your billions can square up because I gave you one of the most precious tokens I have as a citizen. Sir, I voted for you. If all the dark predictions of your time in office prove accurate, it will be the last time any of us will ever exercise our franchise.

Talking heads on both sides of the aisle are painting a dismal view of what is to come.

Whether yours will be the second shortest presidency in the nation’s history or not. Whether you consider yourself above accounting for your gaffes, which pile up day by day. Whether you feel immune from investigation and possible prosecution. Whether you can act in such manner as to quell the anxiety of your conservative supporters or the suspicion and anger of your liberal axemen. At the end of the day my country is going to bed nervous.

It is of little consequence how different things might have occurred had you lost. No crystal ball hides the details of a President Hillary Clinton. Likewise, no crystal ball is able to blur the ramifications of your continuing to shoot from the lip. Frankly, sir, I think you would make great strides toward becoming a president if you stayed away from microphones, cameras, and computers for a while. Trust your expensive spokesmen to do your speaking. Check what they’re going to publish in your name before they too shoot from the lip.

I’ve lived through the sad ending of Mr. Carter’s time in office. I easily recall the turmoil that fired the country when Mr. Nixon left us in a lurch. I also have fresh memories of the mockery Mr. Clinton did in the Oval Office with his consorts. All this and what you are doing is having the effect of transforming the most fantastic government in the world into something becoming distrusted by the rest of the world.

So, Mr. Trump, I beg a boon of you: For one day, twenty-four hours, three fine meals in the White House, just say nothing. No reason that would handcuff your getting on with the job, but it would give us a pause during which the world does not see comedy at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. One day, Sir, and I’ll feel as though you’ve paid part of what you owe me for the investment I made in you.

Sincerely,

T. J. Ray

Oxford, Mississippi

TJ Ray is a retired professor of English at Ole Miss.