It's early. Pitch black. I'm staring into the dark woods outside my house. If it wasn't so pretty, it'd be eerie.
Only a few nights ago, we were outside Atlanta. At a big gas station, there was a boy pumping gas. He was happy, black, maybe nineteen. Beside him: a beat-up compact car full of boys. They spoke with strange accents.
They were from Mali. They said they were driving to Florida. They heard there are lots of new-construction jobs there.
The kid said, “We're new American citizens, last week. We take test and everything."
When he said it, his friends looked at each other like they'd just discovered teeth.
I congratulated him,
then apologized for our politicians.
Before he left, he said, "God bless America."
And he meant it.
The week before, a Decatur, Alabama barbecue joint—I saw a woman with her wheelchair-bound mother.
The elderly woman shouted, “I gotta pee!”
The girl rolled her to the restroom. And for all I know, she helped her mother tend to business, too. When they came back, her mother kissed her on the forehead. She held her face and said, "My sweet Marilyn."
Marilyn said, "Love you, Mom."
Then she hand-fed…