Richmond, Virginia. I was in a coffee shop. The loud TVs were delivering what passes for American news.

Prince Charles recently had his portrait painted by British artist Jonathan Yeo. The painting features a violent red-and-pink background which, many critics feel, makes the prince appear as though he is burning in hell.

Caitlin Clark made her WNBA debut, breaking ESPN viewership records, spurring TV network corporate officers to commit to giving themselves huge raises.

Season Three of “Bridgerton” is here. “Bridgerton” is Netflix’s hit romantic-comedy series about attractive people wearing attractive period costumes and somehow this is important national news.

I sat at the cafe counter wondering what it means to be an American in today’s media-centric world. When did headline news become all about celebrities? Why do we care?

I asked the coffee-shop guy what he thought it means to be a modern American.

He wore a flat face and said, “This is my first day working here.” Then he walked away.

As I was leaving the cafe, the TV headline read: “IMPORTANT BREAKING NEWS: Kansas City Chiefs Kicker Disses Taylor Swift.”

Disses.

Have mercy.

So anyway, many Richmond local friends agreed that I should visit Saint John’s Episcopal Church, which wasn’t far from the cafe. Saint John’s is—according to historians—maybe the most historically important meeting house in the United States.

I made the trip to Saint John’s.

When you first see the old church, you are immediately struck by a strong, patriotic feeling, deep inside yourself. That feeling was located somewhere near my bladder to be exact. Because at the time, I had to go like a Russian racehorse.

I asked the lady at the visitor’s office about restrooms, I said it was urgent. She said the bathrooms were locked today. God bless America.

Thus, I hurriedly finished my historical church tour whilst squeezing my legs together because the nearest public restroom was a mile away and, as a committed student of history, I knew it would be frowned upon to pee in a colonial cemetery.

I walked stiff-legged around the church, built in 1741, clutching my ureteral area with both hands. Taking in the history.

In the church, I found an old man touring Saint John’s. He was with his grandson. The man was reading from a pamphlet aloud, using his stage voice, so I listened.

“…They tell us, sir,” the man said, “that we [Americans] are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction?”

The old man explained to his grandson that he was reading a speech Patrick Henry delivered within this very room in 1775. There were 120 delegates present for his speech. Men with names like Washington, and Jefferson. Many say this speech sparked an American Revolution.

My arm hair stood up.

The old man continued:

“…Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun!”

By now, a small crowd had gathered around the old man.

“…Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH!”

We all applauded softly.

We applauded because, you see, we are American, despite our differences; we clap because liberty is what our ancestors died upholding; but most of all, we applaud proudly today because this man was not dissing Taylor Swift.