I’ve since learned that being able to speak a language doesn’t mean you’ll be any good at teaching said language.  But I’ve also learned that motivated language students can still benefit even from an untrained, but enthusiastic teacher. 

And so there I was, every Monday night for several months, teaching the language I know to immigrants at Salt Lake City’s Guadalupe Center.  I taught small group lessons, no more than half a dozen students at a time.  Many of my students were coming straight from work and their sincere efforts to learn and make mistakes as adult learners, as well as their profuse thanks for my efforts, won my heart.¹  

Though not a professional ESL teacher myself, it helped that I had studied German and then Arabic in college.  Among other things, I knew the value of slightly slowing down my rate of speech and using familiar and simpler vocabulary especially with my beginner students.   

The time came to move back to Virginia and I said some goodbyes on my last night. Afterwards, the director of the ESL program, a gruff, “let’s just get this done” kind of guy that I had barely spoken with, hugged me.  He had never had a college student volunteer for their program.   

London. My next ESL opportunity was my only paid ESL experience.  Mrs. Anysecondnow and I – two people – were living in the UK, supported by a University of London fellowship for one. After a few months, getting low on funds, we started looking for extra work on the side.²     

Oxford Street in London has, among many other things, at least a dozen English language schools.  Going back to my “I don’t have too many skills, but I can speak English” mentality, I started knocking on (business) doors looking for side-hustle ESL work.  Not surprisingly, most of the schools would only hire someone with actual ESL teaching credentials, but one of them was willing to hire uncredentialledLooking back, it may have helped that I had a US law degree. In other words, 'Okay, this guy may not have an ESL certificate but at least he should be able to speak English correctly.' me as an on-call substitute.  

Unlike in Utah, where most of my students were older and Hispanic, I had young students from all over the globe in London.  Also, in contrast to most of the staff teachers who spoke British English, I was the slightly exotic American English-speaking substitute.  I would sometimes spend the last few minutes of class demonstrating differences between UK and American pronunciation and teaching some American slang.  They ate that up.  

One day, three students came up to me after class.  They had maybe 10 days off available to travel and decided they wanted to fly to the US and have an all-American experience.  More precisely, they wanted an all-American experience all over America – coast to coast.  What did I think? 

They just could not comprehend how big the US was. I gently explained to them that with only 10 days, they needed to focus on a particular area in the US.  I recommended California. 

“Fly to LA, rent a convertible and drive along the Pacific coast for a day or two.  You’ll feel so American you’ll be bleeding red, white, and blue.” I hope they did it.

Arlington REEP #1.  Back in the US myself, having moved from my Vienna home to Arlington, Virginia,  I volunteered to teach ESL classes for the Arlington Education and Employment Program (“REEP”).  I became kind of a permanent substitute for drop-in evening adult classes in my neighborhood.  

As always, I enjoyed the students and the teaching, but unfortunately, life got busier with work, a new daughter, and other community responsibilities. After a year, I had to quit REEP. 

Arlington Resource Center for a Better Life. Nearly 15 years later, with a little more time in my life, my church started an ESL program and I volunteered to teach.  For close to three and a half years I taught weekly classes at the Resource Center.   

Each term lasted 12 weeks and I taught classes from beginners to more advanced.  Although the student population fluctuated, most of the students were from Afghanistan, particularly at the beginner level.     

Several of my classes near the end of my time were largely filled with conservative Afghan woman who seemed intrigued by a male teacher outside of their culture. When discussing our favorite foods during one class, I mentioned how much I enjoyed the Afghan noodle soup aush. The next week one of my students brought in a pot for all of us to share. 

These women worked hard to master a new language, but I could also tell that English class for many of them was an opportunity to get out of the house and socialize with friends in their native language.  I would feel the same.  After cooking and cleaning for my family all day in the house, I can leave and hang out with my friends for the evening?  Sign me up!     

Arlington REEP #2.  After several years with the Resource Center, I wanted a change of scenery in a more professional ESL setting.  Mrs. Anysecondnow was in the midst of transitioning from a volunteer slot to a paid job with REEP and I rode her coattails to get back on as a REEP volunteer teacher.  Starting in January of this year, I ended up teaching Mrs. Anysecondnow’s former class – the Monday morning high beginner group.   

Though it had been nearly two decades, I remembered Arlington’s REEP program as a model ESL program.  I was pleased to see that it had only improved since then with even more teacher resources as well as dedicated leaders.  

My students are again from around the world, older than my London students, but as devoted to learning as my first students back in Salt Lake City.   As for me, I’m still uncredentialled, but happy to be back teaching English to people building new lives in the United States. 

So, am I changing the world teaching ESL?  Kind of. I’m changing it in the only way most of us can — doing modest, decent things in our own modest sphere of influence.  Hundreds of people can speak English better than before because I (and so many others) helped teach them. Hundreds of people got better jobs, picked up their prescription at the pharmacy, don’t have to ask their kids to translate everything, or got US residency and then US citizenship. My ESL teaching was a small part of every one of those great things.

Lately, for me, there has been another reason I like to teach ESL. There have always been Americans who demonize foreigners who come to this country looking for a better life for themselves and their families and hopefully become American themselves. For me, teaching English to immigrants has become my way of pushing back against that attitude.

In a previous post I noted how being involved in our community ameliorates feelings of helplessness. It’s hard to be completely cynical and untrusting when you’re personally out there in your community, trying to make a difference.

I taught about the symbols of the US flag in a recent ESL class. I then had the students draw pictures of their home countries’ flags and describe them to the class. In halting but understandable English, my students proudly explained how various symbols on their flags represented courage and strength or peace and purity and various other noble qualities. Not for the first time as an ESL teacher I thought to myself, they and their kids are going to be awesome Americans.

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1. If you are shallow like me and enjoy gratification, you could do worse than teaching ESL classes. The students always say thank you. Often with great sincerity. In my first ESL class this year with REEP Arlington, the students not only thanked me, but they applauded at the end of class. (This could have been a fluke.  Maybe one person clapped — or made a sound like a clap — and then everybody else joined in.  In fact, maybe some of them thought it was just an American custom to clap after the first class and didn’t want to feel left out.  It hasn’t happened again!)
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2. One of the entertaining ways we earned extra money was participating in University of London grad student medical and behavioral studies. They were always looking for volunteers and paid as much as 10-12 pounds for up to an hour of your time.  If this is starting to sound like Dr. Venkman’s ESP test in Ghostbusters, you aren’t too far off.  Neither Mrs. Anysecondnow nor I got electrocuted, but we did participate in various oddball experiments testing visual and mental aspects along with aural reactions and behavior.  Maybe we even contributed to some useful breakthroughs.
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In that spirit, I had resolved to participate, modestly, in the next No Kings demonstration this March.  I have a centrist sensibility and have voted for candidates in both major parties over the decades, but have been dismayed by many actions of the current administration.  

I knew there would be many thousands of participants in my local area of northern Virginia and Washington DC, so why not ride my bike down and exercise my rights to make my voice and presence known for a little while? 

And then I realized I’d be in Texas on the day of the protest, not near DC.  Deep in the heart of Texas.  A red state, oooh.   

If I showed up, would there be just a handful of people, waving a few signs?  Would there be counter-protesters yelling at us?  Would local police give us a hard time?   

Having a few extra hours that morning, I resolved to check it out. I drove over to the downtown Frisco, TX intersection that the No Kings website had identified.  The event was supposed to be from 9-11am.  I didn’t know what the “event” would be.  Marching?  Chanting?  Confrontation?  

At 8:45am, I arrived. There was nobody there, nothing going on. I drove a little farther, parked, ate most of a Wendy’s sausage breakfast burrito, and decided to walk over to the intersection. Maybe a few people would eventually show up.  Even if there were only a dozen of us, that’s okay.  I figured they’d be happy to have an out-of-town Virginian join them.

Or maybe the whole event just fizzed.  This is Texas, right? 

How wrong I was.

As I got out of my car, like fireflies at night, everywhere I looked around me, I started to notice groups of two or three people walking with signs.  Ah, I thought, maybe there will be more than a dozen people.

I made my way over and saw about 50 people on my side of the street with signs and American flags.  On the other side of the street were dozens more.  Traffic passing by bleated out honks and drivers waved, triggering scattered cheers from our group.  

Not for the first time that morning, I felt just a bit emotional.  What a lovely thing to see people gathering on an unusually cool Texas Saturday morning to make their voices heard. 

I didn’t do much.  I had no sign and didn’t want one.  I just wanted to be present physically, chat with some people, and participate in my own way.  At least I could say I was there.

The crowds grew and by 9:30am, I counted hundreds of peopleFWIW, a Dallas Morning News Facebook post stated “over 200” people showed up in Frisco. That was accurate. Sort of. It was definitely over 200. My informal count was probably double that. Several commenters on the post claimed nearly 600 which I could believe since people were still arriving when I left. lining both sides of the street.  No marching and only a little chanting by a few enthusiastic groups.  My kind of protest.  

There were no counter-protestors.  Several of Frisco’s finest were there.  They were friendly.  Their vibe was “we’re just here to make sure things stay peaceful”. They were the opposite of intimidating. 

Someone had a bubble machine going, a DJ set up some music and the party was on by the time I had to leave a little while later.  The whole time, Texas drivers were continually honking and waving their support.  

Whatever your political persuasion, getting involved is good.  It’s hard to be completely cynical and untrusting when you’re personally out there in your community, trying to make a difference. It infuses you with a feeling of the power of being a citizen.   

It’s tempting to think we are powerless and can’t do anything to change things. But almost nothing changes unless individuals try to do something. There’s no outside power or secret cabal reaching in that’s going to change things for us. It’s just us. It always has been.

There are places in the world where it takes real bravery to make your voice heard. And I understand that some feel afraid to go out and protest due to immigration status or fears of repercussions. But for the vast majority of us, including me, it’s a minimal risk endeavor.  I’m glad I did it.

When I drove away, I made sure to drive back down the street in my rented, non-protest-looking white sports car and honk and wave my support at everybody.  I got lots of cheers.

But beyond that federal, muesum-y core, Washington DC is a big-time city.  There is never an end to things to do in DC .  A new Hirshorn Museum exhibit, a Georgian (the one in the Caucacus, not the US South) restaurant, a play at the intimate Arena Stage, paddle-boarding under the Key Bridge, the Red Cross memorial garden pocket park, a parade (or a protest!), a view of the Mall from the US Capitol steps, a statue of a cat balancing on a top hat on the foot of a boy balancing on a girl, and more and more and endless more. 

Here’s a random DC day of mine from last week.

The Washington Post put out a list of DC’s best sandwiches.  The “G Man” at Mangialardo’s Italian Deli in DC caught my eye. Let’s check it out.  But as long as I’m in DC for a sandwich, what else should I do?  

You may have heard about a national founding of our country 250th birthday celebration going on this yearI was too young for the 1976 Bicentennial party, but I'm here for this one!.  Among dozens of commemorations, I noted a blurb for the National Arboretum.  The Arboretum, run by the US Department of Agriculture, is a research facility/public garden, well known around these parts for its overflowing late spring azaleas and it’s leftover Greek Corinthian-style US Capitol columns.  

There are also bonsai at the Aboretum.  Amazing bonsai. 

Like some of you probably, my first bonsai moment derives from some Mr. Miyagi Karate Kid wisdom.  According to Mr. Miyagi, all you need to do is picture the tree and then cut it. “If come from inside you, always right one“, he respondsMaybe in a few years, English will evolve into Miyagi-speak. Clearly we don't need all those extraneous subjects and verbs. to Daniel-san’s concern.  I suspect — hope?– the National Arboretum approach to caring for their bonsai is more sophisticated than Mr. Miyagi’s approach. But maybe not? 

Anyway, I’ve got a plan. I’ll grab a G-Man sandwich, eat it at the Arboretum overlooking the Capitol columns, and then check out the bonsai.

One could drive downtown and do all of this, but where’s the fun in that?  Much more interesting to pick up the Metro from Virginia, ride to Potomac Avenue in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, stop by Mangialardo’s, get the sandwich, and then ride a Capitol BikeShare bike to the Arboretum.  

My plan works. I quickly find the sandwich place. You just know a slightly dingy looking storefront like this is just focused on making lots of good food. They don’t need to update the decor.

After a 20 minute ride through interesting DC neighborhoods, only getting lost (briefly) once, I ride into the open gates of the Arboretum. I pedal around a bit on the sunny roads, enjoying the views, then find a shady bench with a view. How’s this for a lunch spot: 

After riding more around the quiet and nearly deserted Arboretum, I drop off my bike and walk over to the bonsai tree exhibit. 

This exhibit is a DC treasure.  The website says its the finest bonsai museum in the world.  I’ve not been to any other bonsai museums that I can recall, so I can’t say whether that is true or not, but it is amazing.  The setting and architecture frame the small living masterpieces like pictures in frames. 

And, like many things in DC, it’s all free.  There’s not even a security line or tickets.  You just walk in and enjoy.  And I did. 

After getting my fill of bonsai and other peaceful Asian exhibits of rocks and scrolls, I ride my bikeshare bike back to Stadium-Armory Metro for the trip across the river and back to Virginia. 

Riding to the Metro, I needed to pull out into a lane to make a left turn toward the station.  I turned my head to check behind me and saw a car approaching.  The lady driving saw me look and perceived that I wanted to move to the left.  She slowed down and waved for me to go in front of her. 

There are kind people all around us.   

“Baksheesh” technically means “tip” in Arabic (as well as several other languages), but it’s really a stand-in word for all manner of passing extra money, frequently under the table. Call it a fee, a commission, a kickback, whatever. Feed the giraffes? A little baksheesh. Pet a zebra? No problem. Step into the big cats enclosure and hold a lion cub or two? Just a little more baksheesh.

This concept of paying off-the-books money for otherwise off-limits activities or experiences is rare in the United States. And as a naive college student in Egypt, my first foreign country experience, I soon got annoyed at outstretched hands asking for “baksheesh.” But, thanks to the Cairo Zoo, I also realized that, in the right circumstances, a little baksheesh can open the door to unique travel opportunities.

For instance, instead of holding lion cubs, how about exclusive early access to Angkor Wat? I got to the Cambodian mega-tourist site before sunrise along with probably a thousand other eager tourists looking to get iconic sunrise shots of the temple reflected in its foreground pools. Behind the closed gates, surrounded by the jostling tourists and their rickshaws waiting for the sunrise, I wandered around to the back for a different perspective.  

Since we both have different parameters – I like warmth, she likes it cool; I lean urban, she hates parking garages; etc. – we rarely settle on a place that we both like. 

For a while, we were both liking Wilmington. Unfortunately, I liked the warmer, beachier, college town vibe of Wilmington in North Carolina. She preferred the Wilmington in Delaware — cooler with the nearby DuPont mansions and gardens. And the best mushroom soup of her life. So, yeah.

Which means maybe we’ll never move anywhere for retirement since we can’t agree.  

But maybe that’s for the best because according to AARP we already live in the #1 most livable “large community” location  Yes, our hometown of Arlington, Virginia is number oneNorthern Virginia overall does pretty great on this list. Arlington’s next door neighbor, Alexandria, is #2 and our smaller neighbor, Falls Church, is also #2 on the “small communities” list. .   

Eat your heart out, Sarasota, FL, Scottsdale, AZ, Austin, TX, and all you other Sunbelt retiree magnet cities – Arlington is #1!  Get excited!  

Actually, I don’t think ARLnow, the local daily where I saw the news, was enthusiastic enough about being #1 (for the second year in a row!)  I guess we’re just not a cheerleading, toot-our-own-horns kind of town.  We’d rather serenely go to our yoga class, stop by the local farmer’s market, and then grab a latte.  

Candidly, Arlington getting a high ranking on a liveability index is not a shock.  Whether we’re truly #1 or not, Arlington, the smallest county in the U.S., typically scores high on indicators like health, transportation, civic engagement, safety, and the like.   We’re even the fittest city in the U.S. Eight years running!

Arlington is a genuinely great place to live. Good schools, fine neighborhoods, lots of county services and community events, lots to do, decent people.  I can complain about something to the county and they will respond.  We’ve also got lots of visit-able memorials, including the nationally known Arlington Cemetery and Marine Corps Memorial, 

As well as America’s prettiest (in my opinion) urban multi-use path, the Mt. Vernon trail:

And, of course, all the museums, entertainment, restaurants and sights of Washington D.C. are just across the  Potomac RiverI think most Virginians really like having that river between us and DC.  Mentally, at least.  We tell ourselves, yeah, we’re close to DC, but if things get too crazy, well, we’ve got a river to protect us. We can even blow up the bridges if we have to. Yeah, right.. 

Arlington is so cool that we even have a rap. (Beware: lots of inside jokes here.)

So, why would we move away from Arlington?  It’s oh-so-livable (so says AARP), we know the area, and our friends and family are here. We like it.

I can think of three reasons we might move. The three “T’s”, if you will.    

Traffic. Like almost any metropolitan area, traffic here is an issue. I’d argue that Arlington, with its extensive street grid system, offers more alternative routes than many other jurisdictions, but traffic is traffic.  Bottom line, I’d enjoy a place with less traffic.

Temperature. Our mid-Atlantic winters are relatively mild compared to other parts of the country.  This isn’t Buffalo.  But I’ve noticed in a big way that as I get older I tolerate the heat more and the cold less.  December through February here is tough for me.  Of course, some of that is my own fault –  I’m out there riding my bike even on some of the coldest days — but warmer weather sure would be nice.   

Transition.  And, finally, the idea of someplace new appeals to me.  It would be fun to live our day-to-day life in a different place (maybe a foreign location?) even if for just a little while.  One of the reasons I like to travel is to figure out a new place.  Why not do that for an extended period of time? 

For now, I guess our long term conversation will continue and we’ll see if we ever agree on another location. And if not, well, we’re still in the #1 most livable place!

A few days later, I’m still upset/annoyed/demoralized/pick an adjective about the World Series Game 7 result.  

It was an absolute gut punch. If you’re a Toronto (TOR) fan. 

It’s pretty fantastic if you root for the Dodgers (LAD). 

TOR was two outs away from the win, their first WS in 32 years, when possibly the worst hitter in the LAD lineup (Miguel Rojas) hit a game tying solo home run.  The game went to extra innings, TOR squandered more opportunities, there was a double play by somebody, another solo LAD home run, something, something, one more double play (it was after midnight by now; thank goodness for clocks falling back an hour that night) and LAD won.  

Arghh.  

I left my friend’s house at 12:30am feeling distinctly depressed.  Incidentally, my friend repeatedly dozed off, snoring and everything during the last few innings, leaving me to commiserate with his wife, who had come down to the basement to fold laundry (that her husband still hadn’t gotten to folding because of my visit) in the 7th inning, but got sucked into the game drama herself and ignored the laundry.  

Here’s the thing.

Although I am a baseball fan, before this World Series I was not a TOR fan. I could not have named any of their players besides Vladimir Guerrero Jr. (who had a historically great postseason). Also, maybe I had heard, but then forgotten, that 41 year old future Hall of Famer Max Scherzer had signed a one year contract with TOR to eke out one more year. But that’s it. Bo Bichette, Alejandro Kirk, all these players I’ve now seen dozens of times in the last week — barely heard of them before.

Not only was I not a TOR fan and never had been, but before the World Series (WS) against LAD, just a few days earlier, in the preceding AL championship round,  I was actively rooting against TOR.  

I wanted them to lose to Seattle (SEA) in the prior championship round and was quite disappointed when SEA did not prevail. I did not cheer TOR star George Springer’s amazing go-ahead home run in the 7th inning of Game 7 against SEA. I was unhappy. (Even though I was very much cheering for Springer to pretty much do the same thing against LAD a week later!)

Why did I want TOR to lose in the prior playoff round?  Because SEA, yet another team I didn’t care very much about before that particular week, was trying to get to their first ever WS.  Not win a WS, mind you, just to play in a WS.  They are the only MLB team that has never gotten to the WS despite nearly 50 years of existence.  It only seemed fair that SEA should have that opportunity instead of TOR who had played in, and won, two WS in their history back in the early 1990s. But sports does not care about fair, and SEA can now add one more year to their “never been to a WS” pain cave because TOR beat them.

And yet, in another twist, the series before the league championship round, I was rooting for TOR because they were playing the Yankees and well, unless you are from New York City, you should be cheering for whoever is playing the Yankees – that’s just baseball 101, right?  

So, yes, my rooting interest in TOR this October was highly conditional.  It was only because TOR was playing against LAD and since LAD had won the WS last year, I didn’t want to see LAD win it again.  That was my only reason to root for TOR. After rooting against them.

In fact, just to further illustrate how conditional my TOR fandom was, if they would have instead been playing against Bob Uecker’s never won a WS Milwaukee (MIL) Brewers – which LAD mercilessly smothered in a 4 game sweep – I would have been actively rooting for MIL and against TOR. Yes, the very same players and team, and even city, that I am sad about this week. 

Or if not MIL, if TOR had been playing in the WS against Philly (I’m a Bryce Harper and Trea Turner fan) or against SAN (another never won a WS team) I would have actively rooted against TOR.  Honestly, LAD was one of the few NL teams that could go up against TOR and make me root for TOR.  Otherwise, I don’t care much about the Toronto Blue Jays Baseball Club either way and never have.

If all this sounds stupid, it absolutely is.  Why do I care?  Heck, why did my friend’s wife care?

I doubt I could explain it to an alien visiting EarthAlienHow would I try to explain this to an alien?” has increasingly become my go to mental exercise for complex issues. In other words, how would an alien -- who in my mind represents the non-existent 100% rational, logical person -- react to some of the situations we humans have gotten ourselves into? Say, why does the US seem okay with so many school shootings but goes nuts about an average of 4 people a year killed by foreign terrorists? or chattel slavery? or Qanon or God or why we eat oysters or, yes, why I was rooting for TOR after I rooted against them .

Or even another human from a few centuries ago.  

Although maybe the human could understand.  Because they are human also.  They could understand the connection that one makes with another human, even one they’ve never met but just seen on TV.  They could maybe understand a sports fan’s irrational hope.

They could maybe relate that being a fan nearly always ends in frustration because there is only one championship but many teams.  And that luck in sports plays a much bigger role than we ever want to admit.    

Although as I’m typing this, I’m starting to doubt my thesis a little.  Could a random guy from, say, the 1700s, hoping to grow enough food to make it through the winter, knowing lots of his kids might die young, really understand a sport’s fan’s hope?  Well, maybe he would understand the luck part. 

Jerry Sienfeld said that when we cheer for sports teams we are just rooting for laundry and he is right.

And yet we care.  It’s real life drama and we don’t know what will happen and we keep watching each night to find out. And I’m going to be disappointed for a while that the TOR team and players I really liked for one week of my life lost the WS.  

The first name I came up with for this blog was “The Retired Fed”.   Seems obvious.  To me. ‘Cause I was a proud U.S. federal government employee, and I retired.  I figured that title would interest a niche audience of federal workers who are retired or maybe planning on retirement soon. And maybe I might have some useful things to say about that transition. 

But farewell to that idea. When I went to register the domain, I discovered that someone else had already thought of theretiredfed.com.  There is a site and It looks pretty but, as of now, there isn’t anything there. So if it ever comes into being, I’ll be an interested reader!  

I tried some other variations – retiredfederalworker, postfedlife, nextstep, and the like – but none of them resonated with me.  Actually, some of them resonated a bit with me, but not with Mrs. anysecondnow, whose love for the sounds of good words and diction is only exceeded by her antipathy for the sounds of dumb words.  (Do not say “mouth-feel” to her.)  Suffice it to say, she did not like some of my made up words.  

I’ll pause here to note that most “how to start a blog” sites advise not sweating the name too much.  Just pick something and go with it.  This feels true.  Think about the oddball names out there for blogs.  Or for massively popular online businesses – AirB&B, Zillow, ebay, to name a few – what do those names even mean? And does anyone care?  It appears not.  At least not enough to stop them from using said websites and businesses.   

And so, resolving not to sweat the name too much, I reflected more on the transition of life aspect and less on the federal worker aspect.  And then reflected on some of my favorite 80s movies.  Was there a quote from one of them that could work as a blog name about transitioning to early retirement?

This brings us to the John Cusack and Iona Skye just barely staying in the 80s (1989) classic Say Anything.  I don’t know if I could say that this is my favorite 80s movie Only because there are so many contenders.  I mean, how re-watchable are these 80s classics? Back to the Future, Red Dawn, Aliens, Ghostbusters, Empire Strikes Back, Amadeus.  I could list many others. So could you., though it might be, but either way, it’s kind of a perfect movie.¹

I mean, seriously, I think Say Anything is darn near flawless for the pathos-filled teenage romance movie that it is.  Packed with memorable lines, every actor– major to minor– knocking it out of the park, Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes and other great tunes, the iconic boomboxSurprisingly, the iconic boombox scene doesn’t resonate with me as much as other scenes. For instance, my #1 scene -- and there are many to choose from -- might be the the back and forth between Lloyd and Jim Court in the prison yard at the end --'I'm incarcerated, Lloyd!' But all that said I do recognize that the boombox image has become an iconic 80s image and I think that's great. scene, not to mention some deeper parent-child and integrity themes threaded in, and it all ends with Lloyd sitting next to Diane, giving her “high level airline safety tips” on a 747 to London. 

They are leaving the US, embarking on a new adventure into the unknown, not sure what will happen, but full of optimism and hope.  Kind of like me. Here you go.  It’s the last line.

1. These guys agree: https://www.theringer.com/2019/04/01/movies/say-anything-cameron-crowe-30th-anniverary. ︎