The Shrine

I took a trip to the burial place of former President Andrew Johnson in Greeneville, Tennessee. I laid the wreath, said a few words, and shed a tear. Then I got in my car and drove away. 

That’s when the ghost of President Johnson suddenly appeared in the passenger seat and said, “Where we going?” 

I said that I was planning on catching a plane at the airport and flying back home. 

The ghost of President Johnson said, “But I thought you like me.” 

I said that I honored his grave because no one else was. Kind of like admiring a dandelion.