Do sensors censor us or just sense when we're evading stop signals?

I ask where he grew up. He says California. He says he'll leave as soon as he gets the chance. He looks about 19 years old. Maybe 20. Could be 17. When I ask where, he says anywhere that is not the United States. I ask what is wrong with the United States. He says there are too many laws, too much censorship. I ask him where else he has been, thinking he will justify his answer with his experience with foreign lands being less oppressive. He says Florida, Hawaii (twice), Cancun and... Mexico. He is answering with candid seriousness. I tell him that I travel a lot and there are parts of the United States that aren't so bad. I ask him what kind of laws are oppressive. He says California has cameras everywhere and that they take your picture when you run a red light. He says he has a device on his license plate that blurs the picture. He proceeds to explain that the guys who put up those cameras aren't even cops, that they put them there and then sit around all day waiting, watching. He clarifies that as soon as you run that red light, they snap a picture of you. My mind begins to drift. I decide that if this really were the case, if the cameras weren't just sensor-driven, these guys might be called something like Sensor-Breaker Detectors. Or SBD's for short. Then guys like the kid who's driving me to the airport in his blurry jeep would nickname them Son of a Bitch Dudes who watch over and me and make sure I don't run red lights. I begin to wonder if Blurry Jeep kid has sensors mixed up with censors. I wonder if the SBD's internally censure us after a while for our lack of respect for others' safety.

I ask him how he is censored. He says there are too many ways to explain. I ask for one. He thinks a minute and then admits that he cannot think of one at the moment. I change the subject because I begin to feel as if I am accusing him of something, even though I was really just curious where he grew up. I say I have never been this early to the airport. He asks what I am going to do with 4 hours. I begin to list things... read, write, stare into no where. I tell him I have a hard time getting bored, so I don't mind the waiting. He asks what I like to read. I tell him short stories, funny ones. I ask him what kind of books he likes to read. He says he's never finished a book. He says he never really got into it because in school, his teachers would always make him read things he didn't want to read. I tell him when I am an English teacher, I won't force kids to read things they won't like. He says that'd be cool.

When we get to the airport, he asks me what airline I am flying on. Of course, I don't know, because sometimes I am not completely primed with my travel information, so I pull out my laptop. Delta. I go up to the Delta counter and they are looking at me like a disoriented owl. They ask me what I want. I think to myself, isn't it pretty obvious? I tell them I'd like to check in. They tell me there are no more flights tonight. It hits me that maybe I am not flying out of Oakland. There are about eighty airports in the vicinity of San Francisco. I take out my laptop again and right above Delta, it tells me SFO. I guess it was a good thing I left 5 hours early.

Along my BART ride, I think about my ride to the airport. I wonder if this kid will ever give America a chance. I wonder if he'll ever feel the need to read a book, all the way through. I wonder if I judged him for the things he said, but realize I didn't really. I liked him. I liked how he had a tenacity, a passion in life, even if it was against something. I think having passion, even if misdirected, is better than being apathetic. I wonder at what moment in his life will that passion be challenged and he'll have to decide to deviate or alleviate it. I hope he just redirects it and doesn't let it dwindle into indifference. This may sound a bit extreme, but I wonder if he had only had a better english teacher . . .