Goodbye, Nick Saban. You just announced your retirement. I don’t mind telling you that I cried into my Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I’m making changes this year. Little changes. The big changes never last. It’s little ones that stick.
“You don’t get married, because it’s the smart thing. You get married because a man is incomplete until he’s married.”
The manger was made of cardboard. It was stuffed with fresh hay. Genuine hay from the hardware store. The Christchild was a naked Cabbage Patch doll from Brianna Smith’s personal collection. Orange yarn for hair. Jesus was a redhead.
I was 15 years old. I walked into the rural library. My father was freshly dead. I was a middle-school dropout. We were poor. It was Christmastime.
Santa Claus? Thank God he lives. And he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
The old man wiped damp eyes and said words I’ll never forget: “Who needs a bike when you have love?”
Our lives have been one giant puzzle. And maybe that’s how everyone’s life is. The pieces don’t make sense when they aren’t together, but you don’t give up looking. Not ever.
It wasn’t like he had done anything monumental, but the gesture meant so much. I suppose simply being noticed was the nicest thing anyone could have ever done for me.
The parking lot was slammed. Families of all kinds gathered in the auditorium for this upcoming Veterans Day, to watch their fifth-graders put on a concert.
“Iced tea,” she says with a smile. “For my American writer.” They’re doing okay here in Rome.
It was simply that she was the only woman he ever loved. And after a few decades of marriage, she still is.
The students poured peanuts into their bottles. Messes were made. Bottles erupted on desks like Mount Saint Soft Drink. Everyone started to giggle.
The Alabama game was on. The Crimson Tide was beating Texas, and my heart sang. We were at a family reunion.
So he’s sitting on the hood of his ‘73 Piece Of Junkola when an old guy at the next pump notices there’s something odd about this kid. Namely, the kid is wearing a tux.
I get Andy. And though I never knew him, he seems to understand me. And when I see that familiar jailhouse, or hear Barney Fife’s tenor voice, I am no longer that lonely child who once sat before a television and wondered if anyone would ever love him.
Did you know that nearly eight out of every 10 Americans believe in angels? For the math challenged, that’s a whole dang lot of people. When it comes to global figures, seven out of 10 humans believe in angels.
He is playing on his phone when he asks, “What was it like before smartphones?”
Hundreds of years ago, when Choctaw Indians still lived on the Gulf Coast of Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi, they had a word in their language. It was a short word: Okeh.
And I want you to know that long ago, a woman once told me that if I counted my blessings, I would get meatloaf. I’m glad she made me do that.
The locals call this the greatest city in the world. Which is sort of stupid, if you ask me. Birmingham is a pretty small city, compared to your mega-cities. The greatest? Come on.
The beauty of Milo’s tea is that it’s not too sweet. It is the right balance of sugar and tea. In 12 fluid ounces of Milo’s tea you’re looking at a mere 26 grams of sugar. Which is nothing.
There is a lot of talk in the writing community about how artificial intelligence chatbots are going to replace authors someday.
For the unbaptized, Fifth Sunday Sings were started in the pioneer days. Back then, rural Americans couldn’t make it to church every Sunday.
My mother always used to tell me the same stupid thing: “Be yourself,” she was always saying. Give me a break.
He’s a good boy. A good man. A fine soldier. And that is why I thanked a perfect stranger for his service to our country.
“It sounds like a plot from a Hallmark movie,” he says. “But that’s how it all happened.”