Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Tonight, I am in a band. I am only a guest musician. But the guys on stage are my friends.
It’s a great night. Bright lights are shining in my face. There are happy people in the audience. And I can’t think of many things I love more than playing music with my friends.
Morning in Manitou Springs, Colorado. My sister and I have a rental cabin located near the base of Pikes Peak. I am sitting on a picnic table outside our cabin, drinking crappy instant coffee, finishing my third chocolate bar.
My sister brought the chocolate. It’s artisan chocolate. She is asleep in the cabin right now. She’s not going to be happy when she awakes and finds out I’ve eaten all her fancy chocolate. I will undergo one of her famous improvised gender reassignment operations.
This is a big trip for me and my sister. We are visiting Pikes Peak to see my dad. And it’s going to be big.
The first thing you should know about my sister Sarah and me is that we like people. It’s just who we are. She and I are both what you’d call extreme “people people.” My father was a people person. And we definitely got his genes.
Columnist and musician, Sean Dietrich, aka Sean of the South, and his sister are setting out to climb Pikes Peak in honor of their father. The man became a runner overnight and frequently ran the Pikes Peak Marathon. His ashes are scattered atop this “fourteener,” as hikers call it, or mountain with an elevation over 14,000 feet. Sadly, the Dietrich patriarch died by his own hand when Sean was just 10. Sean writes eloquently and honestly about his struggles with with forgiving his father. We wish him and his sister a successful climb, good fellowship and peace and healing as they remember their father and his impact on their lives.
Our plane touched down in Albuquerque. No sooner had my feet hit the airport terminal floor than I knew immediately—call it gut intuition—that Albuquerque is definitely a city with two Qs.
I’m in Avondale Park. I’m watching random kids play baseball. The kids pepper the field. Gloves on their knees.
“Hey, batta batta batta!” they all chant. They look like third graders. The third-baseman looks like he has to go pee.
Morning. I am driving two-lane highways in the backcountry of Missouri. I have been sharing the highway with mostly rusty pickups and Massey Ferguson farm implements. Also deer.
Missouri. The place where the western prairie meets the southern cotton patches. It’s a foreign land to me.
You’d never know I was born in Missouri. You’d never guess my father died in Missouri.
Dear kid,
I know this is a hard day for you. It’s hard because everyone in the known solar system is throwing a party for their dad, and you’re not.
You died by suicide 30 years ago. You hated yourself. You hated this life. You hated where the world was heading. So you left. You’d probably hate it even more today. For one thing, they sell water in bottles now.
Suicide is a dirty word. Try using it in mixed company. Try using “suicide” at a dinner party. You wouldn’t. Because suicide is not something people talk about.
In a tragic and chilling incident that has left the military and intelligence communities grappling for answers, Green Beret Matthew Alan Livelsberger, a decorated U.S. Army Special Forces soldier, died by suicide on January 1, 2025, in Las Vegas.
Freedom from consequences has made those in our government complacent, and the safety net it promised is rotting – even as the net’s load is increasing.
Humans are distinct from all other species on Earth in many ways, one of the most sobering being our capacity for intentional suicide.
Editor’s Note: Suicide is an emotional topic. People of good will, often disagree as to the best way to prevent this sad and unnecessary loss of life. The opinions in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of American Free News Network. Suicide. There is no more somber …