When he asked, I answered. Then I laughed.
As the years of Mama's life grew long into the shadows of age, she managed to squeeze every bit of good out of growing old.
The despair in their eyes haunts me still. The dullness of emotion and deadness of spirit shall remain forever embedded in my memory.
It happened, I suppose, when I was in the fourth grade. That is my first strong recollection of the unfairness of life.
Over the course of many years, I have spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms, hoping for good news and dreading the bad at the same time.
As the old year spits and sputters to an end and the new one waits in the wings, straining with enthusiasm to burst forth with fresh hope, I see things differently than I have in past years when I wrote this New Year's column.
So it was several years ago, I was hired to speak on a few occasions for riverboat cruises on the Mississippi.
When I was a young sports writer, just beginning an education on the world of sports and the men who made the majors great, I was fascinated with NFL quarterback Kenneth Michael "Ken" Stabler.
Editor's note: Penning this week's column is Ronda Rich's husband, John "Tink" Tinker
It didn't surprise me it was him. Although such had never crossed my mind, it was, of course, just the kind of thing he would do.
An email arrived in the middle of the night in August. It said my precious friend Randy Parks, one of the dearest friends of my life, was back in the hospital with congestive heart failure.
The honorable Zell Miller of Young Harris, Ga., was raised by a remarkable mountain woman.
The other day I had something on my mind, a situation we just encountered with someone we had sought to help.
The other morning, I called one of my best friends. I had a bit of news as well as a piece of advice I wanted to share.
A few years ago, a gentleman went to a lot of trouble to write me a simple letter he sent to the newspaper where he reads this column, which the newspaper then mailed to me.
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Bree, the 8-year-old daughter of my niece Nicole, was riding shotgun with me one day in Tink's pick-up truck.
About halfway through my morning run just about the time droplets of 'dew' were running down my face and I wasn't looking none too ...
One Saturday morning, I ran by the bank to pick up a checkbook that had arrived and found the place to be unusually busy.
It's hard to find a good mud hole these days.
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