George Washington, the first president and the spine of the Revolution, breathed his last at Mount Vernon.
Now, I’ve seen men come and go—some bold, some brutal—but none cut from the same cloth as Washington. He was no king, though he could’ve been. No tyrant, though he had the power. He fought not for glory, but for something greater—duty.
When the war was won, he gave up command. When the people called, he served. And when his time came, he stepped down without clinging to the seat—something mighty rare in any age.
We may have walked different paths—he the honored general, I the outcast rogue—but I’ll tip my hat to a man who led by example, who kept his word, and who held this country together when it could’ve easily fallen apart.
The father of a nation doesn’t pass without the earth feeling it. December 14 wasn’t just the death of a man—it was the closing of an era.