In Defense of the Vegetable: French Fries and Mountain Dew Don’t Count
Today is National Eat Your Vegetables Day. Frankly I didn’t know there was such a day. And I don’t know why it exists. Or who invented it.
Sean Dietrich
What Happened to American College?
College is hard work. Not just mentally, but physically. Frank has six classes today. Thus, Frank is compelled to carry a heavy pile of physical textbooks FOR EACH CLASS. A stack of hardbound paper literature roughly equalling the same weight as the Jefferson Memorial.
How To Find Inner Peace: Step One: Break Three Ribs
I’m pleased to report that, as far as we know, I’m not dead. I make this statement because a lot of messages have been arriving in my inbox asking questions like:
“Why hasn’t Sean been writing lately?” And, “Where is the daily column?” And, “Is Sean dead? Did he get hit by a Mack truck? Where the [bleepity bleep] is he!!!?”
A Birmingham Angel
Birmingham. I met the old woman for coffee. She was small and slight, with a mane of white. She spoke with a thick Latin accent.
“I have a story for you,” she said.
Heaven Can Wait
Bryan was walking the Arkansas highway shoulder with only the moon to guide him. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Blisteringly cold.
The Feel of a Real Newspaper
Newspapers have a smell. If you’re lucky enough to find a physical newspaper in our digital world, you’ll notice the smell first. Fresh newsprint paper. SoySeal ink. Still warm. It’s a unique scent.
The Story of a Simple Woman
She works hard. Too hard. And when she’s not cooking in the kitchen of the medical rehab, delivering trays to patients, she’s a full-time single mother.
Lies, Cowards, and Politics
The emailer was irate. “When are you finally going to address the lies being told RIGHT NOW to the American people?” the emailer wrote. “You are A COWARD!”
Questions and Answers
Sean Dietrich answers reader questions as only he can, with wit, wisdom and whimsey.
Angels in the Outfield
Someone emailed me and said I was an idiot. Which is true, but not for the reasons they cited.
Breakfast in an American Hotel
Mom was middle-aged. Maybe early fifties. Her daughter was maybe 18. You could tell it was her daughter because of the way she kept rolling her eyes whenever the middle-aged woman opened her mouth.
How We Started Scrolling
I remember when social media used to be a bunch of friends sharing stuff. And that was all.
Back then, social media was mostly a youngish person activity. Older folks thought we whippersnappers with our newfangled phones were ridiculous for engaging in something that “wasn’t even real.” They told us Facebook wasn’t “true socialization.” They told us to “get a life.”
We just laughed and went back to posting pictures of our food.
An Old Man on an Airplane
I’m on a plane awaiting takeoff. My carry-on bag is above me in the compartment. A compartment which, according to FAA regulations, is slightly too small for everyone’s carry-on bags.
One Fine Teacher
As an older student, most professors were part of my peer group. Many teachers had attended the same wild high-school parties I did. Most of which I can’t remember. But there was one teacher who was different.
Dead Routers and Dollar General Candles
The power went off. We were trapped in a little lake cabin about the size of an area rug when it happened.
Name Them After Yourself
One day, as God was sitting in all of heaven’s sovereignty and sanctity and etherealness and stuff, little Randy came to visit.
Randy was the youngest angel trainee in the squad’s junior division. He had just graduated Angel Second Grade. He had freckles and missing front teeth. He hadn’t yet earned his halo. His wings hadn’t fully dropped yet.
The Carpenter’s Hands
Fulton, New York. The year was 1940. The gray-haired man was behind his woodworking bench, clad in an apron. He was feeling around for his spokeshave. He was blind and deaf. His name was Tommy Stringer.
Becca’s Vacation
This house is a tomb. Ever since the kid left. We’ve had a kid here at the lake for the past several days. Our goddaughter. She left this morning.
What the Bag Boy Said
I let him help me out to my truck. He was a supermarket bag boy. Maybe 19. Nice kid. Reddish hair. Warm smile. He spoke with a significant speech impediment.
The A Word: American Cheese and Other Offenses
It’s weird. Being back in America again. For one thing, they don’t call it “America” over in Europe. It’s bad form. They call it “the U.S.”