When I was a kid, one of my heroes was Tom Sawyer. There were days when I thought about becoming Huck Finn, but I wasn’t cut out for the role.
I love spring; always have. Especially when I was a kid, growing up in Kansas City.
Increasingl, I am developing and reaffirming an insight which is abhorrent to me.
First a personal note: On behalf of my family, I want to express my deepest appreciation to the many of you who wrote personal notes following the death of My Beloved, sent checks to support the Betsy and Ron Barnes Youth Scholarship and/or attended the Celebration of Life gathering on Saturday morning, Feb. 4.
Suppose your youngest son takes a test. He is asked questions about vocabulary, arithmetic, whether he can remember a series of numbers and grasp analogies. There may be other tasks to perform, and then a little later, an examiner presents you with a single number—your son’s intelligence quotient (IQ).
Reading a recent article about the high percentage of veterans committing suicide and the many who are struggling with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) provoked a memory that took me back to an important lesson I learned sixty-three years ago when I was serving a tour of duty with the U.S. Army in Korea.
I watched an interview recently of an athlete. He reminded me of an old tennis rival I used to compete against. He always had an excuse for his loss. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a new racquet that didn’t feeling right. The strings were too loose.