“Hey there. I see you like to read,” he said, smiling his toothy grin in a way that almost cut through my shyness. “What books do you like?”
I paused, nervous. The significance of that moment registered fleetingly. I could not fully grasp it at 9 years of age, but it was there. I figured I had better list some impressive titles! My mother’s voice whispered in my mind that I should have good eye contact. I wanted to be the kind of girl that I could feel proud of when I was grown, looking back on that day.
I glanced up at Jimmy Carter’s face and thought, I am actually talking about books with the governor.
Credit: contributed
Credit: contributed
“The ‘Little House’ books. I love them all. And ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and the others by E.B. White,” I blurted. “And also ‘Island of the Blue Dolphins’!” There. I did it.
It was 1973. Carter was sitting beside me in the children’s section of the brand new Paces Ferry Branch of the Atlanta Public Library following its dedication ceremonies. He had stepped away from the festivities to briefly join the quiet little girl with her nose in a book who had wandered off, bored, and planted herself on a very mod orange piece of upholstered furniture that looked like a giant marshmallow. It was a private, unphotographed conversation that in my memory lasted 20 minutes, but probably only lasted a few.
“Reading is so important,” Mr. Carter said in his soft drawl, not unlike mine back then. “I bet you’re a very good reader. And what do you think of the new library?” Well, I loved it of course. I loved all libraries, and this one was so near my house and had a great children’s reading area sprouting many brightly colored poufy marshmallows. It was divine.
We chatted a bit more, and then Jimmy Carter returned to the party. My friend Elisa was standing with her parents, Carol and Paul Muldawer, who worked for Carter’s gubernatorial (and later, presidential) campaign, and in various supportive roles after he was elected to each office. I was just along for the ride that February afternoon so long ago because I had a play date with Elisa and I really did not care about the adult program at the library opening.
I had no idea when I slipped away to read a book that I would meet not only Georgia’s governor, but also a future president of the United States and the man who has endured for over 50 years as the greatest role model of my life.
As a child, I did not give critical thought to the importance of role models the way I do now, as an educational psychologist. I have asked kids to tell me about their role models for over 25 years, so my brain houses a fairly large database of names — the living and the dead — and they have substantively changed over time. Celebrities and athletes have always been popular choices, but never as pronounced as today when our heroes are so often Internet-made.
One child stands out in my memory above all others because he answered my role model question so uniquely. His role model? Nikola Tesla, “because he was an engineer and inventor who was ahead of his time, and he was seriously underrated. People had no idea how much he would influence society in the future and look at how he has!”
My feelings about Jimmy Carter are much the same. He is an underrated icon in a callous era and I know he will be more greatly appreciated in the future than he has been during his lifetime. His post-presidential work as a humanitarian — especially his advocacy on behalf of women and girls around the world — has helped me do the work I do.
I wish all children could have role models with such profoundly positive and long-lasting impact upon their lives. As parents, we can help our kids identify human qualities they admire and the adults who personify them. We can help children understand that cultivating their role models’ best character traits within themselves contributes to a meaningful life.
The problem with having a role model who is several decades older than me is that I’ve worried about losing him many years before I no longer need him, but his legacy will guide me for the rest of my life.
I have written this essay as a thank you to Jimmy Carter — not just for the personal inspiration he provided over 50 years ago and ever since, but for creating a remarkable message of peace and justice for humanity that I can inhabit spiritually, often to find comfort in my tiny role within Carter’s larger vision, in quiet moments of my own choosing.
Lori Day is an educational psychologist and consultant who now lives in Maine. She still loves to read.
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