Dad was thrilled about the idea. “Just let me know what you need, son,” he said.

When Putin arrived on July 1, 2007, Dad met his plane at the airport in New Hampshire and accompanied him on the helicopter ride to Walker’s Point. Then he took both of us for a speedboat ride. Although initially startled by the idea of an eighty-three-year-old former President driving the boat at top speed, Putin loved the ride. (His interpreter looked like he was about to fly out the back of the boat.) The next morning, we had a long conversation about missile defenses, in which we found some common ground. We then went fishing. Fittingly, Putin was the only one who caught anything.

—

AS THE 2004 election approached, I naturally thought back to my father’s defeat in 1992. In some ways, I was in an ominously similar position. Like him, my first term had included approval ratings around 90 percent: after September 11 in my case, and after the Gulf War in his. Those numbers declined over time, and my race against the Democratic nominee—Se

nator John Kerry of Massachusetts—looked close. On election night, the whole family gathered at the White House. I think Dad may have been more anxious this time than he had been four years earlier. He remembered the agony of 1992, and he did not want me to endure the same pain. At the end of election night, I had a solid lead, but Kerry had not yet conceded. Early the next morning, Mother and Dad left for Houston. Later that morning, I got a call from John Kerry, who graciously conceded the election. I became the first President to win a majority of the popular vote since Dad in 1988. When I called to give him the good news, his reaction was more relief than excitement. The wound from 1992 healed a little more.

—

ON THE DAY after Christmas in 2004, a massive tsunami in the Indian Ocean devastated several Asian countries. The waves, one hundred feet high in some places, wiped away huge stretches of coastline and killed more than two hundred thousand people. I deployed American naval assets to help with the relief efforts. I decided to ask Dad and Bill Clinton to lead a private fund-raising campaign. I believed that a fund-raising drive led by these two former rivals would send an important signal about America’s commitment to those suffering from the disaster.

I called Dad and Clinton to tell them about my idea. Both readily agreed to serve, and they raised an impressive amount of money for the relief effort. As part of their efforts, Dad and Clinton took a lengthy trip to the scene of the devastation. They had seen each other at official events over the years, but they didn’t really know each other. That changed on their trip to Asia. Their military plane had only one bed, and Clinton generously let George Bush sleep on it every night. Dad appreciated Clinton’s consideration. Like many, he marveled at Clinton’s boundless energy and genuine interest in people. Outside the pressure cooker of a political campaign, it was hard not to like the man. The friendship that flourished between the two of them was something that I did not expect.

After Hurricanes Katrina and Rita struck the gulf coast in 2005, I decided to deploy the odd couple again. Once again, they answered the call, making multiple visits to the region and filming public service announcements to raise awareness about the needs of the victims. Their bipartisan appeal inspired more than a hundred million dollars in private donations. When Hurricane Ike struck in 2008, I called Presidents 41 and 42 into action for a third time. Once again, they did a terrific job.

The friendship they formed through their shared service has endured. Bill Clinton visits my parents regularly in Maine. Over time, it became clear that Clinton treated Dad as a sort of father figure, perhaps because Clinton never knew his father. Mother took to calling Clinton her long-lost fifth son—or, as Marvin put it, “a brother from another mother.” Clinton embraced the image and started calling himself the black sheep of the Bush family. He joked that Barbara Bush would do anything to claim another President in the family. In retrospect, I am not surprised about the relationship that developed between George Bush and Bill Clinton. Dad is a gracious man who always found a way to see the best in others. Even the most painful moment of his political career was not an obstacle to befriending the man who defeated him.

When my second term ended in 2009, I was fortunate to become the first President to leave office with both parents alive. For one of my final Oval Office meetings, I welcomed the three living former Presidents

—Bill Clinton, Dad, and Jimmy Carter—and the incoming President, Barack Obama. While we had our differences on policy issues, we all enjoyed the opportunity to sit together in the office that we shared and to impart some advice to the newest member of the club. The President-elect was gracious, and I noticed that he was particularly deferential to Dad. It was clear that he genuinely respected and admired George Bush. Two years later, President Obama awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor that the President can bestow. After recounting Dad’s accomplishments, President Obama said, “His life is a testament that public service is a noble calling.”

In an era characterized by bitter partisanship, George Bush set an example as a man who put civility and decency ahead of the ugliness of politics. When powerful Democratic Congressman Dan Rostenkowski was convicted and sent to prison for his role in the House post office scandal, most of his Washington colleagues abandoned him. Not George Bush. He and Rosty had known each other since they served together on the House Ways and Means Committee in the 1960s. Dad called Rosty in prison, hoping to lift his spirits and helping him pass the time. And it probably helped Rosty’s standing a little bit that the warden knew the former President could call at any moment.

Earlier this year, President Obama (who is not popular in Texas) stopped in Houston for a political fund-raiser on the way to an event celebrating the civil rights legacy of Lyndon Johnson. When he came down the steps of Air Force One, George H.W. Bush was waiting on the tarmac in his wheelchair. “When the President comes to your hometown,” he said, “you show up and welcome him.”

Dad set an example in other ways. He continued to play golf, fish, and take long walks well into his eighties. As he said in an interview after a parachute jump on his eighty-fifth birthday, “Just because you’re an old guy, you don’t have to sit around drooling in the corner. Get out and do something. Get out and enjoy life.”

Around 2010, Dad’s athletic body started to fail him. He was diagnosed with parkinsonism, a condition similar to Parkinson’s disease that affects his ability to move his lower body. He can no longer exercise like he loved to do. Eventually he could no longer walk and had to use a wheelchair. Still, he lives joyfully. Sitting in his wheelchair, he realized that his socks were among the most visible parts of his wardrobe. So he started wearing brightly colored socks. His favorites are red, white, and blues. Even though it is a struggle for him to climb in and out of his wheelchair, he accepts invitations to public events. After all, he is the President who signed the Americans with Disabilities Act. He continues his prolific correspondence and constantly entertains people in Houston and especially at Walker’s Point. As always, he has a special place in his heart for those who were suffering. When he learned that one of his Secret Service agents had a two-year-old son undergoing treatment for leukemia, my eighty-nine-year-old father shaved his head in solidarity with the boy.