USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving. Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free. I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these." "They just come with the table, man." They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner. This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat. I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared. "Did we…?" "Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless." Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined. My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude." Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most. Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.

“He's now teaching his three kids, including his 16-year-old daughter, how to invest based on what he learned owning SpaceX stock. His daughter is already a stakeholder in Meta and a handful of other companies.  If given the chance to talk to Musk, Hernandez said he'd thank him for helping him realize a dream he didn't know he had. ‘He made it a possibility for somebody like us, you know, the cook or … electrician. He's making all these lives much better and meaningful for their families as well."

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My son is three years old. For the past two weeks he’s been at a summer camp a few hours a day. The teachers have complained to my wife three times already. Here’s what they reported: He pushed another kid. He didn’t sit still when told to. He tried to leave the room when they said no. He can’t stand in line. I’m not exaggerating. Grown adults pulled my wife aside, three times, to report that a three-year-old acts like a three-year-old. They warned her that if he doesn't change his behavior then he can't continue attending the camp. Maybe we should medicate him. Fix the defect of being a small boy with energy and a will. He won’t be going back. I don’t want people like this anywhere near my son. A civilization that pathologizes a toddler for refusing to sit in a line can't raise men willing to stand and defend it.