I have a personal stake in Obamacare. My little brother was born with a grand mal seizure disorder in 1974; it aged his heart and finally killed him in 1981. He went through his lifetime insurance limit, but still required monthly ER visits and a lobotomy to attempt to ease the seizures. My parents had to spend my college fund to care for him, our neighborhood had a yard sale to send him to specialists, and Dad had to hock his college class ring.
Eric was punished—and, indirectly, we were punished—because he was born sick. As Eric Pettigrew’s proud big sister, I am happy and proud to salute you, Mr. President.
Thank you for loving all of the Erics, and all of their big sister Carlas.