I was in a hotel with a few hundred Mennonites.
I walked into the hotel at noon. At first, I was confused inasmuch as the lobby was full of cape dresses, plain suits, and broad-brimmed hats. Some of the older men had beards, some were clean-shaven. The women wore head coverings.
I thought maybe I’d taken a wrong turn on the interstate.
I approached the hotel desk. “I feel a little underdressed,” I said.
“There is a Mennonite gathering in town,” the hotel clerk said. “This is probably my favorite time of year.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why?”
She smiled.
“You’ll see,” she said.
On my way up to my room, I rode in the elevator with four Mennonite teenagers. It was beautifully un-awkward. None of the young people had a hard time looking me in the eye. None of them had a difficult time making conversation.
“I’m Caleb,” said one boy, confidently.
I shook his hand. This set off a chain of handshakes and introductions among us all. I learned everyone’s name.
“We’re so excited to be here,” said Caleb. “We’ve never actually stayed in a hotel before.”
“They have a free breakfast,” said one boy, using the same tone you’d use to say, “I just won the scratch-off.”
“They even have a swimming pool,” said one of the young women, covering her mouth as though she had just said something mildly risqué.
Then all her counterparts giggled.
We had a nice conversation, then I stepped off when the elevator arrived at my floor. One of the boys offered to help me with my bags.
I travel with five musical instruments, which can be a hassle. I declined his offer, but I was touched.
“Goodbye, Mister Dietrich,” they all said in unison as I wielded my banjos, guitars, and fiddles down the hallway.
The next morning, there must have been fifty or sixty Mennonite teenagers in the lobby, standing in line, waiting for their complimentary breakfasts.
They were all so thrilled about this breakfast. The air was downright buzzing with excitement.
While standing in line, they were joshing around. The boys were acting like boys, gleefully punching each other in the shoulders. The girls were acting like girls, giggling for unknown reasons. The entire lobby was alight with life. It was like entering the high-school cafeteria before a pep rally.
The kid in line ahead of me was about six-two, broad enough to bench press a Buick.
He really wanted a bagel, but there was only one bagel left in the bread box. I heard him speak to his compadre.
“I want that bagel,” said the big kid with disappointment. “But that’s the last one.”
“I know,” said his friend. “I want it, too.”
They both stared at the bagel.
“I’ve never had a bagel before,” said one. “Have you?”
“Once.”
They both eyed the bagel longingly, then left it untouched.
I fixed my plate. The room was packed to the ceiling with adolescence. The breakers of hormonal currents were crashing into the walls.
“Mister Dietrich,” said Caleb, motioning to me, “you can sit with us.”
I sat beside Caleb and Company. We all had a great conversation about life. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.
What I noticed most was that the young people spoke so little of themselves. They were chatty, but also great listeners.
Whenever I spoke, they paid extremely close attention to each word I said as though I was someone important, as opposed to one full of a substance common to barnyards.
Soon, it was time for them to be on their way. The lobby cleared when everyone checked out of their rooms. They packed their cars, and the parking lot evacuated. When the lobby was empty, the woman behind the counter was looking at me with a smirk.
“So?” she said. “What’d you think of them?”
“They’re all so nice,” I said. “And the young people are so, well… Great.”
“I know,” she replied. “Did you notice anything in particular about them? The young people?”
I thought about it, but I came up short.
She smiled. “No phones.”
And I realized she was absolutely right.
On the walk back to my room, I noticed the lone bagel was still sitting there.
Questions: SeanDietrich@gmail.com
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Originally published on Sean’s website. Republished here with permission.
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