Consider this a part one, if you will. Barack Obama, who has been out of the white house for a month and three days as of this writing, but he is still my president. I recognize the fact that Donald Trump is the 45th president, I understand that, but he's not my president. Before conservatives get their underwear in a knot, let me explain the difference between the phrasing. When I say, "Trump is not my president," I'm not being ignorant. I'm not being stupid. I know how elections work. Donald Trump won the election in November, and in January he was sworn in, and in four years his term will be up. He'll either be re-elected for he'll be out the door. I understand that. But there's a key difference.

Donald Trump is not my president because I don't agree with his policies. I don't agree with the way he treats people. How he belittles different ethnic groups. How he sexually harasses women. How he calls others "retarded" when they're actually disabled. How he doesn't understand the constitution. How he isn't representing the America that should be great, but instead is driving it into the ground. How he is silencing everyone who opposes or disrespects him. He is not my president in those aspects. I'm embarrassed to call him "President Trump."

Barack Obama, whenever he was running for office in 2008, faced an uphill battle at the start. Not only was he facing off against Hilary Clinton, he had one issue in front of him that would haunt him for the next eight years: he was black. The race card has been thrown onto the table since day one. But that didn't stop him. He became the first black president of this country, and in my opinion, did a wonderful job of leading this country.

I remember sitting with my mother at the dinner table, her eyes heavy as she told us that, "Times are getting tough," when W. was in office. Whenever Obama was in office, I don't remember her ever saying that. I remember talking about gas prices when they began to tumble. I remember the economy growing, and people going back to work. I remember my friends telling me that their parents, who had lost their jobs previously, were going back to work. I remember when gay marriage was legalized, crying in my living room.

I remember watching him being sworn into office in seventh grade. I remember all of the negative comments being thrown his way and towards his family, he still stood strong. I remember no protests, or at least as many, going on during his presidency. Barack Obama worked with a nation divided. He chose to not divide it even further. He was a classy man.

Thank you, Obama. For everything you did.