Stand in America


Standing on the sidewalk in front of the ferry terminal, I waited for my ride. Several taxis idled nearby. Just in case I hadn’t noticed the taxi closest to me, a man climbed out of the driver’s seat and waved.


His smile dazzled brilliantly against his ebony skin. I smiled back. He walked over. “I give you ride?” he asked politely.




I explained that I had someone coming to pick me up. His smile barely faded. He gestured to the Seattle skyline behind him and asked, “You live here?” 

I pointed to the water behind me and explained I lived across the water, about eighty miles away.  He nodded excitedly, “America is wide!” The way he used the word “wide”  was so endearing. I chuckled. “I learn English in school here.” He explained, “I want to stand in America.”



He’d waited years for the chance to come from Kenya. Now he drove taxi, studied hard, and loved talking to people—he said that’s how he practiced his words. 








My ride pulled up, and the taxi driver opened the door for me, waved at my friend, and said we lived in the best country in the world. 

When was the last time I thought about living in the best country in the world? It took a taxi driver from Kenya to remind me and I'm glad I can stand in America too.

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