Our stories are the most important. When I arrived in France, I found that the French knew the story of America to be Starbucks and McDonalds. There is more in there, in the States, a liberated spirit that was engrained during the Revolution, doubled by Jefferson, sung by Walt Whitman, kept together by Lincoln, built through dust bowls and depressions, breakthroughs and downfalls. It is a subtle spirit alive in diners and toll roads, in cheap coffee and giant redwoods. These are the stories of our wars, our peace, our land and our people. As I stepped foot on foreign soil, I missed these stories and saw how just engrained the American Spirit is within me.
So here are stories from the America I miss, the short stories in Jersey diners, short anecdotes about Truman’s favorite toilet, short recipes about turduckens and short explanations of why such things exist, and just general attempts to approach the beast that is American culture and history in whatever way seems necessary. And they’ll be short. Did I make that part clear? This is my America, the America I still see and the America I want so desperately to always exist.