Long ago, a friend wrote a short biography for one of my magazine articles. In the bio, my friend referred to me as a “biscuit connoisseur,” and the title stuck.
Many of us had experienced flight delays. But the kid in U.S. uniform wore a smile. A big one. When the soldier got closer to the halfway point, a woman shouted.
When I coached their Little League team, a hundred years ago, I was a young man myself. It was my friend’s son’s team. My friend was the coach. I was his assistant coach.
Dan Lovette became an usher at the Baptist church on Easter Sunday, March 26th, 1961. He stood at the door shaking hands, passing out bulletins. Nobody knew Dan.
My sister and I grew up hard. It wasn’t the kind of childhood depicted in Hallmark Channel movies.
Childhood is nothing but a continual buzz. A non-stop adventure novel.
I don’t know much of anything. But I will tell you this: Find a way to help other people. For I am convinced, wholeheartedly, this is the only path to happiness. And if that doesn’t work, you can always try ice cream.
The more I learn about people, the more I like my dogs.
My nieces have enough energy to power an average suburban electrical grid. They arrived in our driveway last night after spending upwards of six hours in the car. By the time they got here, they were not unlike compressed atomic matter contained in a jar, just waiting to explode.
Someone once told me that tomorrow is a day with no mistakes in it.
Tomatoes from Geneva County, Alabama, are different from common varieties. They are superior tomatoes.
No sooner had the old couple adopted the baby than Grandma began taking classes at a local community college to learn sign language. She brought the infant carrier into class with her. She fed her daughter during school hours.
You don’t forget kindness, no matter how small. You don’t forget your friends, no matter how close you were.
You’re human. Sometimes you feel like you’re losing. Sometimes you feel overlooked and alone. Sometimes you talk to the sky and hope it will answer you. Sometimes you wonder if you’re going to make it. But it's going to be alright.
I asked a handful of friends for words of wisdom from elders in their lives. The rules were simple, the wisdom giver had to (a) be over 75, and (b) they had to be—technically—still alive.
Lake Martin is flat. Mirror flat. It is a perfect evening. The sun is low. The crickets are singing in full stereo. And I’m visiting with old ghosts.
No, I don’t know how to save this country. I don’t know much about anything. But I know family dinners ain’t a bad place to start.
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.
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?”
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.
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.