"Barry? Barry, is this you?"

"Yes.... Who's this?"

"Yes, Barry... this is your Aunt Jane. In Nairobi. Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry-who did you say you were?"

"Aunt Jane. listen, Barry, your father is dead. He is killed in a car accident. Hello? Can you hear me? I say, your father is dead. Barry, please call your uncle in Boston and tell him. I can't talk now, okay, Barry. I will try to call you again..."

That was all. The line cut off, and I sat on the couch, smelling eggs burn in the kitchen, staring at cracks in the plaster, trying to measure my loss.

-Barack Hussein Obama

Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance