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.
Sean Dietrich
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.”
A Little Goodness
Dallas. The mid-1980s. There were three Mexican boys in the supermarket. The meat department. They were covered in sawdust and drywall mud. They were eyeing the beef, looking for the cheapest cuts. Counting their nickels and dimes.
A Little Distracted
How I ended up walking into a sliding glass door in a supermarket is pretty simple. I got a text from my wife. I looked at my phone to read the message and, WHAM! Goodbye nasal cartilage.
Sting Like a Bee
A very serious issue we all need to be concerned about is the presence of artificial intelligence in our everyday lives, and we will get to that shortly, but first we need to discuss how I got stung by a bee.
To My Blind Dog
I am not sure whether you understand English, but I’d like to think you do. I’d like to think that you know exactly what I’m saying to you. I’d like to think I speak fluent dog.
Memorial Day In the Park
Sunset. There must be a million people gathered in Railroad Park tonight. Downtown Birmingham is crazy. There are no parking spots left. People are parking cars as far away as Milwaukee.
Our Father, Which Art in Heaven
Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Even though this name has been so misused, misapplied, and misappropriated throughout history.
The Airport Aviary: Departures, Arrivals, and Other Human Migrations
I wonder who is watching me right now.
Someone must be watching me because I, too, am watching others. I am in the Adolfo Suárez Madrid-Barajas airport. We are leaving Spain after spending the better part of a month here. And I am engaging in my second favorite pastime: people-watching.
Make A Wish
I don’t know how I got into this. No, wait. I remember.
My wife, that’s how I got into this. That’s how every crazy, halfcocked idea in my life starts. With her. Bungee jumping in Mexico is only one example.
Waiting For A Train In Spain: Confessions of a Biped
We had a three-hour layover in Santiago de Compostela where we had nothing to do but sit in an outdoor cafe, downtown, watching hordes of pilgrims arrive at the cathedral and publicly rejoice in Santiago Square.
Hannibal
Hannibal, Missouri, is a little off the beaten path. Actually, Hannibal is a LOT off the beaten path. I can’t even find the beaten path anymore.
On the way into town, my GPS kept getting confused in rural Missouri, and at one point I ended up in—this is true—Illinois.