June 28, 2023

At the end of May, a message came through my manager, Earl Blackburn, that Shannon and I were invited to the State Dinner at The White House for the Prime Minister of India. My initial reaction was that it was a scam, of course, but the messages checked out, as did the official reservation form on the White House website. Apparently, a policy director in the First Lady's office read some recent press articles about me and brought our names to the attention of the First Lady and her staff (what?!).

Over the past few weeks, Shannon and I had to get quite a bit in order: confirming travel, arranging for childcare (thank you to Shannon's parents for watching the kids!), dealing with the bizarre question of, "What exactly does one wear to the White House?" My parents in Michigan helped find the beautiful Indian dress Shannon wore, and in the past ten days there were numerous errands to run and affairs to get in order (cutting back on carbs was chief among mine). 

And of course, wondering if we were going to get fooled at the last second. Through the past few weeks I kept thinking to myself, "Maybe they got the wrong Sameer Patel? Perhaps they were looking for the pediatric heart surgeon or business tycoon with the same name?" I slept poorly for weeks. We didn't share the news widely because we were still in a bit of denial, of course, but those we did tell were simply joyful.

Most special were the reactions from immigrants: my parents and their community of Indian-Americans, the Mexican-American shoe cobbler, the Bosnian-American tailor, my son's Mexican-born preschool teacher, the Japanese-American down the street from us that works an impossible number of hours at our favorite deli. They all were so overwhelmed. For instance, when I picked up my suit from the tailor, he showed me how he wrote "W.D.C." on the ticket- and said it was a point of pride for him to be taking care of my suit that was going to "W(ashington). D.C." In each of these stories, it was as if we were living a dream for them, perhaps one they came to America with, that maybe if not them then hopefully for their children or grandchildren. You can imagine how over-the-moon my own parents and family were, as well as the entire Indian-American community in Port Huron, Michigan, where I grew up.

Upon arriving at the White House, security was tight, of course, and the guest list was long. As we entered the White House, we were serenaded by musicians (a big shout out to The President's Own and Col. Fettig for the beautiful music at dinner!). And every few feet we were escorted by a military usher with a smile on their face with words like, "Welcome to the White House. Please make yourself feel at home."

(Again, what??!)

[name dropping alert...]

The guest list was about 380 people, and in the East Room we were able to meet and have conversations with prominent politicians, authors, business leaders, and members of the President's Cabinet. And then we were ushered into the Green Room to meet the President, First Lady, and the Prime Minister of India. At dinner, our table was adjacent to the Vice President's table, and seated at our own was Huma Abedin, Press Secretary Karine Jean-Pierre, and several others. As a bonus, we were treated to a beautiful performance by Joshua Bell, who played music by Vivaldi, Gershwin, and Chopin. 

The reality is that Shannon nor I are particularly political, and we’ve never waded into the waters of Indian politics, or donated to politicians, or subscribed to an ideology. Nor do we have a bunch of zeros in our checking account. We're quite simply a social worker and a musician and two parents up to our ears in the daily circus that is parenthood. We are the type of people that are probably missing from most White House guest registers but perhaps we're the type that should be there, in the People's House. We'll take it. Trust us, we were equally surprised to be there.

I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd have a conversation with Vice President Harris about our kids (she was wonderful, by the way), or that I'd make the President laugh, or the First Lady cheer when I mentioned teaching. 

Following the event, it turns out a picture of us being announced at The White House (below) was one of the ones that got picked up by the Associated Press and seen in newspapers across the globe. 

And then we came home, and our little girl is going through the Terrible Twos and our son's interest in what we did lasted about 20 seconds, maybe less. But we're still pinching ourselves. 

-Sameer Patel