Some people take pride in every chance to relive their glory days, to tell their children tales of days gone by and often remembered.
Some tell stories of incredible athletic feats of yesteryear, and back them up with testimonies from old teammates they see in Wal-Mart or moments frozen forever in framed photographs on the walls of hometown restaurants.
Those stories take them to a time before their backs hurt, before they worked long hours to pay for mortgaged houses.
They take them back to when they had all of the time in the world, when they lived for Friday nights and thought they were invincible. Continue reading “Ants in the outfield”
It’s been a more than a week since I met Josephus.
Come to think of it, “met” might be the wrong word since we weren’t introduced and our one conversation was short. Continue reading “Josephus”
For the second time in four days, Kentucky flies by me in a blur of white lines and road signs.
Road trips are another story for another day, though, because today is someone’s birthday. Continue reading “About an inspiration”
I went to watch a play Saturday night.
It was the first time I attended a live play put on by professional actors since a school field trip to the Alabama Shakespeare Festival.
The trip I took to Montgomery with the rest of the ninth-grade class is a pleasant memory except for one thing.
Continue reading “A tale of two plays”
This story begins in a pool hall and ends in a goat pen.
The middle is quite messy. Continue reading “I just paid to sweat a lot”
I grew up in a chicken house.
I don’t mean literally, of course, though when the wind is right I can smell five of them.
What I mean is, when I was a kid, I had it made. Continue reading “What a time to be alive”