Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
I’ll call her Rebecca. She’s from Washington D.C. Her email started off like this:
“Dear Sean, I don’t know what to do, my mother just died of brain cancer… I am only 18 years old, and she was all I have left…
“She read your Facebook posts, and I am hurting… I know you can’t help me, but I don’t know who else to tell.”
A little breakfast joint. Birmingham, Alabama. The birth pangs of summer are in the air. Alabama feels like a Monet. Trees are pregnant with blossoms. Birds are everywhere.
On my way into the restaurant, I see a man seated on the sidewalk, weeping. A young woman sits beside him, rubbing his shoulders. I’m wondering what’s wrong. I’m probably staring, even. Which isn’t polite, but I can’t help it.
Cracker Barrel is quiet this time of night. There are few cars in the parking lot. My wife is with me. We’ve been traveling all day.
On the way into the restaurant, I see a few kids sitting on rockers outside. They’re playing checkers.
My Uber driver is in her mid-30s, and she is friendly. She is driving us to our hotel, and we are stuck in gridlock traffic.
There is a network of tattoos adorning her limbs. As she drives, I notice a thumbprint tattoo on her neck. I ask about this tattoo.
Sometimes you meet people. People you feel like you’ve met before. Strangers whom you’ve mysteriously known all your life.
Somehow
Six years ago. The Waffle House was packed. There were customers everywhere. Shoulder to shoulder. Sardine-like. I don’t know how the waitress managed to find a place for us at the counter.
Carlo M. Cipolla (1922–2000) was an Italian economic historian known for his insightful and often humorous takes on human behavior. While he wrote extensively on economic development and technological history, his most famous work is The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity (1976).
I like Pennsylvania. They’re nice here. They say “yous” and “yinz” and “soda pop.” They have Appalachian manners, a steelman’s work ethic, and potholes big enough to swallow Peterbilts.
For Sean Dietrich, a crowded airplane becomes another opportunity to meet new friends and see the best on other people
