What are the Chances? part 2 of 2

Because of the rain, we break early for lunch. The food being sold near our beach is just a tad too local for our comfort level. While Julie and the girls seek refuge under a tarp strung between two huts and pair of palm trees all the while fending off several women hawking jewelry made from seashells, I walk down the beach looking for food that’s –how shall I say it?- not quite so local. I finally bump into a lone westerner –a tall, bald guy about my age. He directs me another 100 yards down the beach to a small open-air restaurant.

Ten minutes after the four of us are seated in the restaurant, in walks Tall Bald Guy, his wife, two young sons, and Bald Guy's parents. They sit down two tables away. We are the only customers at this restaurant; in fact, we are probably the only Americans on this tiny spit of an island.

As is wont to happened, we got to talking. We started exchanging the what's and where's of our respective autobiographies. And then it clicked. After just two or three minutes of the basics, I had gathered just enough information for the pieces to fall into place.

Six billion people on the planet, 330 million Americans, and –yup- I am sitting two tables from Rodney Winslow’s brother and mom and dad.

What are the chances?