By now, anyone who reads my articles is completely aware of the fact that I am a political junky, totally interested in the tiniest tidbits of information. I think it has something to do with the fact that my dad was so vocal as well as a “Face The Nation” fan. Remember when “Face The Nation” was one of the few pundit-type political shows on the air?
Then there were the funerals: Jack’s, Bobby’s, and Martin’s. Our television was never off, and we watched every single moment that was broadcast. Interspersed with the funerals were the Hippies, Viet Nam, George Wallace, Medgar Evers, Civil Rights, Selma, Kent State…need I go on?
The point is, I didn’t have a chance to be anything but a junky. So, it wasn’t surprising to me that I hung onto every word that came from the Underwear Bomber’s trial, and I’ve laughed almost every day since.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It was a horribly serious incident, and the man came very, very close to murdering many innocent people, but when Rickey and I heard eye-witness testimony we laughed until we cried because we could just see it…maybe we could picture it because I taught teenagers for so long, I don’t know.
“Hey, Dude, your pants are on fire. Dude! Your pants are on fire.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but 9-11 made me a much more cautious flyer. I pay attention to my surroundings and those sitting around me much more than I ever considered doing pre-9-11.
Soooo…you can bet that if I looked across the aisle and saw someone whose pants were on fire, “Hey, Dude,” would be the last words out of my mouth, but I can perfectly picture the young man who called them out, can’t you?
In fact, I’m pretty sure I taught him once upon a time…yep, I know I did, come to think of it.
Image by Ed White, taken from the Huffington Post.