This morning I started thinking about you. Mainly, I was thinking about what you’re going through right now. Whoever you are. I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. But in a way we know each other because you and I aren’t that different.
Sean Dietrich
Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, and musician, best known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Garden and Gun, Good Grit, South Magazine, Alabama Living, and Thom Magazine. In addition, he has authored thirteen books and is the creator of the Sean of the South Podcast.
As for how he became an author, Sean tells us: As a child, I liked to write. I filled up notebooks with tales of the high-seas, shameless vixens, and steamy scenarios combining both of the aforementioned. My fifth grade teacher found one of my notebooks and scanned through it. She told me I wrote with too many commas, and encouraged me to pursue a career in construction work.
That, old, woman, never, liked, me.
My Valentine
We were newlyweds, living in a grungy apartment. Each morning, I would wake before her. I would pass my morning hours writing poetry on a yellow legal pad, sipping coffee. Mostly, I’d write the kinds of god-awful things you’d expect newlyweds to write. I’m talking painfully corny stuff. I’d leave these poems on slips of paper scattered throughout our apartment for her to find.
Georgia Christmas
Journey with Sharon, a North Georgia waitress, as she shares her transformation from a giftless, treeless childhood to creating unforgettable Christmases. Over a meal, she reveals her family’s struggles, her mother’s passing, and how she and her brother Sweets crafted a heartfelt Christmas with handmade gifts and twenty dollars. This touching story of resilience and the true spirit of Christmas is a testament to the power of family and creativity in the face of adversity.”
Thanks
Thank you for holding the door for an old woman at Cracker Barrel. You must’ve been fourteen, you were with friends. You were laughing and carrying on when you saw the old woman, pushing a walker. You jogged ahead. You beat her to the door. You held it open. She thanked you. You yes-ma’amed her. And you made my day, kid. My whole day.
Hold the Phone
A crowded restaurant. The place is full of teenagers. Everyone is on their phones. Nobody is talking. I am here with my cousin’s 13-year-old son. He is playing on his phone when he asks, “What was it like before smartphones?” “It was different,” I answer. “Very different.”
Scrabble
About a year ago. I met her in a hospital room. I arrived early, with my Scrabble game in tow.
Easter
A few years ago I attended my first Catholic mass in a busy church outside Birmingham. It was Easter Sunday. I sat in the nosebleed section.
Shoutin’
I drove out of Birmingham a little ways to meet my friend. I watched the interstate give way to pine trees. Pine trees gave way to farmland. Farmland gave way to cattle pastures. Somewhere deep in the sticks, my GPS went to be with the Lord.
Lost and Found
The mall was crowded. I was maybe 5 years old. And I was lost. If you’ve ever been lost in the mall as a little boy you know true terror. I had somehow drifted from my mother. I had been distracted by—of all things—a magic show.
Nice Days
That was not a good night. It was not a good decade. I stopped believing in things. I went years without eating ice cream, watching baseball, or smiling.