How do you earn the Presidential Medal of Freedom?
Ah, the Presidential Medal of Freedom—the ultimate “atta boy/girl/person” from the Commander-in-Chief. To snag this bad boy, you can’t just fold your laundry neatly or finally fix that squeaky porch step. No, you need to do something *checks notes* “especially meritorious” for U.S. security, world peace, or cultural endeavors. Think less “organized your sock drawer” and more “saved the universe from existential boredom.”
Step 1: Be vaguely superhero-adjacent (but without the cape)
- Astronauts who moonwalk better than Michael Jackson.
- Scientists who turn lab coats into capes by curing diseases.
- Comedians who make the president snort-laugh during classified briefings.
There’s no formal application—unless you count “casually revolutionizing your field while the White House watches from the bushes.”
The secret ingredient? Chaos (and timing)
This award thrives on whimsy. One day you’re teaching kids to read, the next you’re getting a call from the Oval Office because your literacy program accidentally inspired a national movement. Past winners include Mister Rogers (for weaponizing cardigans into kindness) and Dolly Parton (for outshining the sun itself). Pro tip: Master something niche, like “extreme humility” or “quietly out-awesoming everyone.”
So, if you’re hoping to join the club, just do something extraordinary. Then? Act surprised when a medal arrives. Optional: Practice your “Who, me?” face in the mirror. (Note: Wrestling a bear is not required…probably.)
How does someone get nominated for the Presidential Medal of Freedom?
Step 1: Be so wildly impressive that the universe itself takes notes
The process begins when someone does something so mind-bogglingly exceptional that eagles spontaneously weep, bureaucrats feel genuine emotions, or a retired president mutters, “Huh. That’s neat.” Essentially, you need to out-awesome humanity’s collective resume. Think: curing a disease while juggling flaming torches, writing a bestselling novel in semaphore, or inventing a carbon-negative pizza. There’s no official application form—just a vague sense that you’ve left permanent thumbtacks on the timeline of history.
Step 2: Summon the Council of Distinguished Civilian Service (or just get lucky)
Nominations are technically funneled through the *Distinguished Civilian Service Board*, a mysterious entity that probably meets in a soundproof room decorated with portraits of Benjamin Franklin’s pet squirrel. While the process is opaque, we do know:
- Anyone can nominate anyone (yes, even your cousin Larry who thinks you’d “look great on a stamp”).
- The board then does ~*~background checks~*~, which may involve verifying you haven’t secretly been a sentient Roomba this whole time.
- Finalists are sent to the president, who has the absolute power to say, “Sure, why not?” or “Wait, is this person a literal superhero?”
Step 3: Presidential whimsy (with a dash of paperwork)
The president can, at any time, bypass the entire system and nominate someone because Tuesday felt like a good day for confetti. Maybe they saw a documentary about your life narrated by Morgan Freeman. Maybe your TikTok about saving endangered narwhals went viral. Or maybe you simply held the door open for the First Lady that one time. The criteria? It’s a mix of merit-based meritocracy and “vibes,” served with a side of ceremonial cufflinks.
Of course, there’s no guarantee. The medal could arrive via drone, owl, or a guy named Carl holding a velvet pillow. The only real rule? Don’t ask for it. Unless you’ve single-handedly terraformed Mars while composing a Grammy-winning polka album, in which case—congrats, you’ve already been nominated. Probably.
What are the criteria for the Presidential Citizens Medal?
Ah, the Presidential Citizens Medal—the “I Did a Thing (And It Was *Really* Good)” award. Unlike that participation trophy from your third-grade soccer league, this isn’t handed out for just showing up. To earn this honor, you’ve got to do something so eyebrow-raisingly noble that even Uncle Sam pauses his eagle screeching to say, “Dang, that’s cool.” Think less “helped a neighbor carry groceries” and more “invented a teleportation device to rescue stranded kittens during a hurricane.” Probably.
The Unofficial Official Checklist™
- Heroic Shenanigans: Did you perform an act of bravery so intense it made James Bond blush? Examples: tackling a rogue grizzly bear at a picnic, negotiating peace between rival squirrel factions in Central Park, or inventing a vaccine during your lunch break.
- Service So Selfless It Hurts: We’re talking decades spent teaching origami to penguins, building schools out of recycled TikTok trends, or single-handedly reviving the lost art of sending postcards. Bonus points if you did it while wearing a cape (metaphorical or literal).
- Impact That Defies Logic: Your contribution must’ve caused a ripple effect so profound that future historians will argue, “Wait, *one person* did all that? Sure, Jan.”
But Wait, There’s Bureaucracy!
Technically, the medal recognizes those who’ve performed “exemplinary deeds of service for their country or fellow citizens.” But let’s decode that: You can’t just bake cookies for the PTA (unless those cookies stopped a meteor). It’s about going above, beyond, and possibly into orbit. The president’s team scours nominations like they’re auditioning for a Marvel cameo—except instead of superpowers, they’re looking for relentless kindness, creativity, or courage that’s borderline cartoonish.
And no, you don’t *have* to fight a bear. But if you *did* fight a bear, maybe lead with that. Just saying.
Can a non-US citizen get the Medal of Freedom?
Short answer? Absolutely. Long answer? Well, technically yes, but you might need to either save the planet, invent a time machine, or make a president laugh so hard they snort their coffee. The Presidential Medal of Freedom isn’t picky about passports—it just demands you do something so mind-bogglingly awesome that Uncle Sam himself tips his hat. Citizenship? Optional. Legendary status? Mandatory.
Past Recipients: A Rogue’s Gallery of Global Greatness
- Mother Teresa (1977): Literally a saint. Also, not American. The medal probably felt underqualified to judge her.
- Stephen Hawking (2009): Explained the universe while British. Take that, tea taxes!
- Angela Merkel (2011): Got the medal before saying “nein” to a certain orange-tinted phone call. Timing is everything.
The Unofficial Eligibility Checklist
To join this elite non-citizen club, consider the following:
1. Have you ever stared down tyranny while sipping espresso?
2. Did your life’s work inspire a Marvel movie—or at least a decent meme?
3. Can you name-drop a U.S. president without breaking into hives?
If you answered “yes” to any of these, congrats! You’re now eligible to have a medal awkwardly draped around your neck while a Marine Band plays the “Wait, who’s that again?” symphony.
Sure, the Medal of Freedom won’t grant you citizenship, free burgers, or the right to argue about tax brackets. But hey, it’ll look fantastic framed next to your expired visa. Priorities, people.
