Tagged: family memories

Children Are (Hopefully) Not Our Future

Is this what all those tutors, lessons, sports, and camps, angst about toys, playtime, socialization and discipline, fights about homework, college prep, lectures about drugs and alcohol were about? Is all the money we pour into our little critters, all that time spent hovering over every detail of their lives, and all that driving — only intended to churn out another child’s personal assistant?


Just Saying “Yes.”

Finally, she asked me something that I didn’t understand in the slightest, and paused to let me answer. My head was swimming. I had no idea — absolutely no idea — what she had said. But it sounded like an open-ended question. She was sitting like a cocker spaniel, head slightly cocked, waiting for me to respond. My mind raced, searching for some slight recognition a word — any word — she had used. Nothing came back.


Home Ownership and the St. Louis Blues.

Most of us cannot live off of our home plot — our homes house us, but cannot otherwise sustain and maintain us in times of trouble. We work to sustain and maintain them instead. Sometimes — many times — it takes more than we’ve got to give.


Allen Point: Shooting to Kill

It wasn’t a pretty death. But it seldom is. Kenton lived just up the road from where we moved to Moorelands. We faced Hale’s Passage, and Kenton lived on Horsehead Bay. It was a...

Don't mess with the Tomte. They will protect the farm if you treat them right (notice the rice pudding bowl).

The Worst Christmas Present Ever

I couldn’t imagine what was possible after that. I mean, if Brian, my fourteen year-old brother, had just received this, what would I, a husky rough-and-tumble seventeen year-old, who came up during the summers to help with the haying, receive? A machine gun?


Parents Away II: Truck Launch

“Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!” Brian shrieked as I blew through the front door in a rage, cowering in a corner with his hands and arms thrown over his head. I chased him around the house and over furniture, but I was too worn out from my sprint up from the beach. I swear to God I might have killed him if it were not for the fact that this would leave me alone to face Dad about the truck. Several minutes of screaming at each other, punctuated by mutual wailing, ensued. We were in deep, deep shit. And the tide was rising fast.