Columns

Santa Claus came by Pine Grove last week and dropped off enough Legos to entertain Trey and Jakey for a while. Even little Will got some, and each dawn this week will find the dining room table covered with various construction projects. We’re excited that they can spend a week. What fun. We’ll have plenty of time to break in the new toys, put together the new puzzles, and read the new books. Santa always brings lots of books. Will stopped in the middle of opening presents to read his Spiderman book. [Full Story »] 

Like any good parent, my wife and I were involved in our children’s lives. Accordingly, I attended countless renditions of The Nutcracker in which my daughter appeared, each year in a different role. This particular year, she was to be the Rat King and, of course, the Little Woman ordered me to be present and dressed to kill as photos were to follow the performance. [Full Story »] 

St. Augustine, Florida is an old stomping ground for B. J. and me. Our first memorable trip to this historic city came when we carried our young son Richard to Marineland and we included a visit to the Fountain of Youth and the Old Jail. Since then, we have spent much time there. We have nice condominiums on Vilano Beach and on St. Augustine Beach. It is a fun area with lots of fun things to do. [Full Story »] 

Christmas is coming. Before this newspaper arrives in your mailbox again, Christmas with all the trees, presents, lights, and mistletoe will have come and gone. The ham will have been eaten, along with Grandma’s macaroni and cheese, pumpkin and pecan pies, and the $30 fruitcake. Most family members will have departed to return to their regular lives. Only the memories will linger. [Full Story »] 

As I stated in a recent article, raising our two children has been a blast for my wife and I. We each worked but held to our promise for one of us to be with them whenever they were not in school and still in the ‘child’ mode. This was a huge promise but we did manage it somehow. [Full Story »] 

When I was a child waiting for Christmas to arrive, time dragged on forever. Every single day had at least 72 hours in it; some, more. The closer to Christmas Day we got, the longer the days grew. During those days I worked conscientiously at doing everything Mama told me to. Even when the rain fell in sheets, I ran to the wood pile and brought back armloads of wood for the fireplace. Without complaint, I washed dishes immediately after each meal. I bit my tongue and refrained from arguing with my sister, no matter how obnoxious she became. The whole process was a lesson in patience for me. [Full Story »] 

I was privileged to be in the delivery room when my wife and I had our first child. We did not know beforehand what it was to be, but I never entertained any thought but that it was going to be a boy. The doctor was sitting in place and the nurses were around doing whatever it is they do. I was watching the action with the doctor. I knew all about cows and hogs and dogs giving birth so I was not really nervous at all. It was just nature to me. Suddenly, I could see a little head full of black hair and I shouted, “Here he comes!”, and here she came! When I saw it was a girl, my whole being completely changed. I knew instantly I could never be the same as I had been, ever again. It is the strangest thing how the birth of a daughter can do that. I mean it is hard to keep up a rough, tough, country boy image while carrying a diaper bag on one shoulder and holding a baby girl in a carrier in the other. [Full Story »] 

Since before Halloween, stores have been putting out their Christmas merchandise. Red ribbons and silver bells along with trees of every shape, size, and color wait in the stores to decorate someone’s home. I actually saw a metallic purple tree in Savannah a few weeks ago. It was resplendent with pink lights and green ribbons. I won’t say I hated it, but I wouldn’t want it standing in my living room for the month of December—actually not even one day of it. I’m more a traditionalist myself. I want my old faithful ornaments that the children and grandchildren made or that we’ve collected over the years. I also like the ornaments that someone chose or made just for my family. Just today we added a handful of red Santas done in plastic canvas and filled with Hershey’s kisses. None of our ornaments are expensive. They have little monetary value, but to me they are priceless. I do like my Christmas tree. [Full Story »] 

I remember the day I tried to pick up a two-hundred pound sack of fertilizer. I was young and thought I was strong but I could not budge it. A short, thin, wiry man walked up, knelt down and grabbed it, heisted it up and onto his shoulder and walked off with it. This took place at R.W. Griffins Warehouse somewhere around 1959. By then, 200 pound sacks were relics, but back in the bowels of that old warehouse there were many relics that today would be priceless antiques. I would go there each day after school and help do whatever work was at hand, like unloading a boxcar of fertilizer until 5:30 and quitting time, whereupon I would catch a ride home with one of the men who worked there and who lived close to our home. You see, my Momma was working in Douglas at C.O. Smith Guano Company then and she moved me from the Hebron Institute of Higher Learning of the Piney Woods to the Douglas Elementary School where she thought for some reason that I would have more opportunity to excel. This plan might have worked except for the assorted miscreants in my sixth grade class with whom I became fast friends. All I knew at that time was hunting, fishing, and work. They introduced me to other areas of human endeavor that I didn’t even know existed, all of which were in direct conflict with my Sunday school upbringing and complete innocence. Of course, they say the same thing about me though I am the one still in recovery. Anyway, rather than ride home with Momma each afternoon, I chose to work at the fertilizer warehouse for free after school and hang around with the older men who didn’t care if I smoked, chewed, or cussed, as long as I worked. Muddy Waters called it being a ‘mannish boy’. [Full Story »]