I met one of my heroes last night. And I don’t use the term hero lightly. Sean Dietrich is an author, a humorist, a musician, a treasure.
For quite a while now I’ve read Sean’s blog posts on Facebook. He writes about life, about the goodness in this old world. He writes about the helpers. The everyday angels. And last night I was fortunate enough to hear him speak (and sing) in person at an event sponsored by the Bookshelf bookstore in Thomasville, Georgia. What a wonderful evening it was.
Studly Doright came along for the ride, peppering me with questions on the fifty minute drive from Havana to Thomasville.
“So, he isn’t some political nut is he?” Studly asked.
“Nope. The only thing I can think of that Sean pontificates on is the dearth of good modern country music.”
“Is he going to try to sell us a time share?”
“No, but I’ll probably buy one of his books.”
“Well, what’s he going to talk about anyway?”
“Life, probably. Growing up in a southern Baptist church. Fried chicken. Things we are familiar with.
Honestly, in retrospect, I should’ve just invited Studly along for a talk about good southern fried Baptist chicken. He didn’t ask another question after that—just stepped on the gas and got us to Thomasville in record time.
Sean was gracious enough to sign books and pass out hugs at the conclusion of his performance. And I was up for that. Such a huggable guy. I’m sure he thought I was a dotty old lady.
“We’re friends on Facebook,” I said, and he gave me a curious look. I might’ve mistaken me gushing over one of his posts for being friends on social media, because when I checked later, I discovered we weren’t friends there. My mind is quite adept at creating fictional circumstances.
Studly kind of sulked in a corner wondering where the fried chicken was, but grudgingly admitted he’d had a good time.
You can find Sean Dietrich’s books on Amazon. And I highly recommend them.