After the swearing in, a luncheon in the Capitol, and the traditional inaugural parade down Pennsylvania Avenue, I went to the Oval Office for the first time as President. Dad had gone upstairs to the White House residence to take a warm bath and thaw out from the frigid parade, but when the ushers told him that the President was waiting for him in the Oval Office, he hopped out, put on a suit, and came down. A few minutes later, the door swung open and he walked in. We spent a few minutes together just soaking in the moment. Over the next eight years, I would have many memorable meetings in the Oval Office. None compared to standing in the office with my father on my first day.

I made it clear that Mother and Dad had an open invitation to stay at the White House anytime. Laura and I were very happy that they came to Washington frequently, including on September 10, 2001, for a board meeting of a national cancer coalition that they had helped found. That day I flew to Florida, where I had an education event scheduled at a Sarasota school the following morning. Mother and Dad left Washington early on September 11 for a speaking engagement in Minnesota. Later that morning, America suffered the worst terrorist attack in our history—the first major assault on our home soil since the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941.

I knew Mother and Dad would be worried about me. As I was working my way back to Washington, I placed several calls to them from aboard Air Force One. When we finally connected, I asked where they were. “At a motel in Brookfield, Wisconsin,” came the response from Mother. “What in the world are you doing there?” I asked. “Son, you grounded our plane,” Mother said. Some things never change. Her quip was a light moment on a dark day.

Three days after the September 11 attacks, Laura and I attended a church service at the National Cathedral. Former Presidents Clinton, Carter, and Ford were there, along with Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress, and—most important to me—Laura and my parents. “Just three days removed from these events, Americans do not yet have the distance of history,” I said. “But our responsibility to history is already clear: to answer these attacks and rid the world of evil. War has been waged against us by stealth and deceit and murder. This nation is peaceful, but fierce when stirred to anger. This conflict was begun on the timing and terms of others. It will end in a way, and at an hour, of our choosing.”

Delivering that speech without breaking down was challenging. Many people in the cathedral had tears streaming down their cheeks, including some military personnel. My strategy was not to look at Laura or my parents, because I knew that seeing them would push me over the edge. Fortunately, I made it to the end of my speech and returned to my pew. The former Presidents and their families were seated in chronological order, but Dad had asked Bill Clinton if he would be willing to switch places so that Mother and Dad could sit next to Laura and me. Bill had graciously agreed. Just after I sat down, Dad reached over Laura and gently squeezed my arm. My emotions were raw, and his simple, loving gesture brought me comfort, encouragement, and strength.

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MOTHER AND DAD made many other visits to the White House over the years. One of the most enjoyable came in January 2005, when Laura and I hosted a party to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary. The whole family came for a black-tie dinner filled with loving toasts and lots of laughter. After their fifty-fourth anniversary, my parents had passed John and Abigail Adams to claim the title of longest-married presidential couple. They are now just a few months away from extending their record to seventy years. In typical style, Dad wrote me a gracious note after the party. “I guess it’s fair to say that at 80½ years old I have been to a lot of wonderful events; but, for us, none can compare with the gala…. Young and old, relatives and non-relatives, sophisticates and the unwashed, all had the time of their lives. Thanks so very much from the bottom of my achy breaky heart.”

Dad and I spoke frequently throughout my presidency, although not necessarily about the topics that some people have assumed. In the limo after a State of the Union address or another big speech, I would often get a call from the White House operator: “Mr. President, your father is on the line.” Dad would offer an encouraging and comforting word. I did not use e-mail during my presidency, but Dad would often forward a corny joke or one-liner to my senior aides, knowing that they would bring it into the Oval Office to brighten my day. For example, in 2007, he sent this along: “An eighty-year-old man was arrested for shoplifting. When he went before the judge he asked him what he stole. He replied, ‘A can of peaches.’ The judge asked how many peaches were in the can. ‘Six,’ he replied. ‘Then I will give you six days in jail,’ the judge said. Then the man’s wife spoke up: ‘He stole a can of peas too!’ ” George Bush understood the pressure of the presidency and the power of laughter to ease stress. His humor was often just what I needed.

My father and I did talk business from time to time. One common topic was personnel decisions. When I was considering options for my vice presidential nominee, I called to ask his advice about his former Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney. Without hesitating, he said, “Dick would be a great choice. He would give you candid and solid advice. And you’d never have to worry about him going behind your back.” He was exactly right, and for eight years I was glad to have Vice President Cheney by my side.

Shortly after my election, I called Dad about another former member of his national security team, former Joint Chiefs Chairman Colin Powell. I was considering Colin for Secretary of State, my first Cabinet selection. “Colin is highly respected around the world,” Dad said. “He would be a terrific Secretary of State.”

Years later, when I was considering a change in Secretary of Defense, I called to ask his opinion on Bob Gates, his former Deputy National Security Adviser and CIA Director who was then serving as President of Texas A&M.

“Dad, I am considering Bob Gates to be Secretary of Defense,” I said. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“I do,” he said. “I have the highest respect for Bob Gates, and I think he would do a superb job.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” he added.

“The indications are that he will,” I said.

“Losing him would be a big loss for A&M but a big gain for the country,” Dad said.

He was right. Bob Gates did a fine job as Secretary of Defense. And President Obama kept him on after he took office, making Bob the only Secretary of Defense to serve two Presidents of different parties.

During my presidency, Dad and I didn’t talk much about policy. He understood better than anyone that the President is surrounded by experts with in-depth information about the key issues. If I had asked for his advice on a policy matter, he would have said, “Send your briefers so that I know what I’m talking about.” He knew that I had plenty of outside opinions. As the father of the President, he could provide something different: the love and support I needed to handle the pressure of the job.

One area that interested Dad was my relations with foreign leaders. Throughout his career, he had been a master of personal diplomacy—of getting to know people and earning their trust. I had witnessed how effective his approach had been. I held hundreds of face-to-face meetings (and made many more phone calls) with my key counterparts around the world. I invited fellow world leaders not only to the White House but also to Camp David, our ranch in Crawford, and Walker’s Point.

In early 2007, I called Dad and asked him if he would invite President Vladimir Putin of Russia to Walker’s Point. I felt that it would be a perfect place to discuss the missile defense systems that we were planning to build in Poland and the Czech Republic.