No matter how many years you prepare for it, it's an emotional event when your child goes off to college.
Two women standing in front of me in the checkout line this week obviously hadn’t seen each other in a while. Although I’ve often thought I have certain ESP-esque gifts, this instance didn’t require any intuitive brainpower.
There is a box. “A box,” I said aloud in quiet amazement as my Alabama cousin told me the story of the box, the small, metal box he and my older brother buried years and years ago in a field.
Question: If the sound of a jet taking off equals around 180 decibels and the sound of a whisper equals about 20 decibels, what does about 140 decibels equal? Answer: Tuesday night.
When you're in a teaching moment with a teenage daughter who's about to get her learner's driving permit, watch the signs closely.
The ground was damp from the previous day's rain. It was still thirsty, though, and I know this because I heard three gentlemen say it was so and I believed them. Standing there just on the edge of the grass where it met the tired path I was walking on, they rocked slowly on their heels and looked up at the sky.
Last time I looked they were still on the dining room table in a neat little pile. Three piles, actually. Written. Blank. And envelopes.
The memory took me by surprise. Was it the smell, sweet and fruity ... or maybe the bright yellow of the package on the seat next to me?
She had, undeniably, grocery store feet. “She has what?” the woman asked in surprise and the young girl lifted up one bare foot and revealed its underside, a sole ranging in shade from brown to grey to near ‘bout black in places. We were not in a grocery store, but outside on a hot afternoon.
‘Come in,” a deep, low voice mumbled from behind the closed bedroom door and I turned the knob and slowly pushed it open to reveal my first born, now a teenage man child, propped against pillows and watching television, a computer on his lap.
Who originally wrote it, I don’t know. But I know where my copy came from. It’s been folded and re-folded a couple of dozen times, read and re-read when I needed a chuckle or wanted to make someone else laugh.
We interrupt this column for an important announcement about common decency.
I saw a sign in a store once. Not a sign, really, but rather a little slip of paper taped to the side of the cash register. I was buying some gum.
Somewhere in the Bible it says that God knows every hair on our heads. Comforting, it is, but I have to wonder — does he know about the freakishly long scary ones that appear out of nowhere in the most obscure places and continue to come back time and time again no matter how often we yank them out?
A friend died last week, left this life on a beautiful Easter Sunday.