“Hey Jesse, what do you think about Trump?” Always looking to stir the pot, my grandpa stared down my future brother-in-law, looking to make this Thanksgiving a bit more lively. The dining room table was a perfect physical manifestation of the political spectrum. Down on the left-hand side sat my step sister, her fiancé, my cousin, and her husband; then the more moderate-leaning individuals, including my brother and his girlfriend, sat in a central area of the table; and finally on the right-hand wing of the table sat my grandparents, my mom, step dad, dad, and step mom. My parents are by no means overly conservative, but compared to my sister and cousin, who are radically liberal, there seemed to be an extreme divide.
Growing up, all I heard about was going to college and how it was going to transform my life. After making it through high school and finally reaching college, the pinnacle of success, I was disappointed to discover that I still had a long way to go.
Whittier College is home to just under 1,700 students. One of them is sitting at a coffee shop in Uptown Whittier just a short walk from campus sipping a seven-dollar iced latte. Her lip gloss has ended up all over the beverage’s new straw less lid. She looks up at me with big brown eyes, accentuated with thick, long eyelashes.
“Once upon a time, there was an English archer named Robin Hood, who lived in Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire.” Thus begins an article found in the February 1972 issue of Air Line Pilot, the official journal of the Air Line Pilots Association (ALPA), a page of which is pinned in the closed Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) case file on D.B. Cooper. Just three months before, on Thanksgiving Eve of 1971, Cooper pulled off the only unsolved plane hijacking in aviation history.