Inaugural speech in full | Frosty outlook ahead | First Lady passes fashion test | Order of the day | People of Selma | Things to come | No excuse for prejudice | A day out with Mum and Dad | A slave's journey | Musical inspiration | A brave new world | Elizabeth Alexander: poem | Derek Walcott: poem

If ever two little girls deserved a puppy, it’s Malia and Sasha Obama. In fact, I’d say that sitting in the freezing cold while some crazy preacher hams up the Lord’s Prayer and an old lady in a sparkly hat sings a deranged version of the national anthem is not just worth a puppy – it’s worth at the very least a pony. Who knows, if Obama turns out to be the magician everyone is hoping for, he may even be able to conjure up a unicorn.

It would seem logical to assume that for Malia and Sasha all this – the fanfare, the tributes, the millions of wellwishers chanting their father’s name in unison – might be a bit too much. In reality, however, it probably isn’t. For now, this is all they know. It may seem weird to us; but to them it is simply reality. Children have a wonderful knack of living purely in the moment. They don’t worry about the past, or reflect on the future. They don’t see life through the same complex set of filters and prejudices as we do. This is why, as adults, we become fascinated by our childhoods, why we romanticise them, long for them, idolise them.

Malia and Sasha, like all young children of people in the public eye, just see things from the perspective of their own universe. To them, the White House is not a great symbol of the glory of the office of the President of the United States of America; it’s just their new home. A bodyguard is not a constant reminder of the threat that their father now faces daily; he’s just a big guy in a suit who hangs out with Dad.

This is why they are able to walk down the steps to their father’s inauguration with such extraordinary composure – far more composure, in fact, than the man himself, who more than once looked like he was on the verge of tears. It’s just another excuse to wear a pretty dress (assuming, of course, that they like wearing dresses), bunk off lessons, be with their parents and maybe have a ride in a helicopter. Sure, they have to be on their best behaviour; sure, they have to be kissed by lots of stern ladies with very stiff hair (oh, my, didn’t Hillary look furious), but essentially it’s a family day out. Even granny was there.

T hat the Obamas managed to pull this one off with such élan is also, of course, thanks in large part to Michelle. Not afraid to take a leaf out of our own dear Queen’s style book (Her Majesty always wears block colours on official occasions: it makes it much easier for her subjects to spot her), her outfit may have been the least of her worries. Steering Barack into dock will have required every ounce of her wifely skills. In the days leading up to the inauguration (which I note was rather disturbingly “administered”, rather like a nasty punishment), she will have been busy swatting away the doubts, soothing the nerves and providing a constant, unfaltering flow of moral support – all the while ensuring that he kept his feet firmly on solid ground.

How her heart must have jumped when he fluffed his lines. Did her brain spring immediately into overdrive, rehearsing the tactics for later when, alone at last, he will say: “How do you think it went?” and, for the first time that day, expect an honest answer? Or did I detect a slight curl in the lip, a slight twitch that said: “I am so going to tease you for the rest of your life about this one, even if you are the first African-American man to have Hail to the Chief played in his honour”?

In the end, it was both a triumph and a relief. Mr Obama took the oath to thunderous applause, and secured that all-important thumbs-up – from his youngest daughter. That line from I Corinthians in his speech – the one about putting away childish things? Very elegant, very clever. I just hope it doesn’t apply too soon to Malia and Sasha.

Blog: What should be Obama's priorities? You decide

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