Suffice it to say, I was spanked, a second time, OR The 100th Blog.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, life, writing
I didn’t get spanked, as a child…much.
U.L. didn’t really believe in that, unless you’d done some really horrendous thing, which I never truly did because God, you know, also rented a room at U.L.’s house, and so it was really hard to get away with much of anything between the two of them. And then there was Jesus. He was always like, Hey, we'll fix it later. I liked him the most. I hated that he moved out.
I’m not saying I never got spanked, kids being kids, but I tried really hard to be a good boy. And, for the most...
The very idea of texting your mother…
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, language, life, writing
You tell me if you get this: a student gets up to leave at the end of this morning's class, and casually turns back to me and says, “Well teetle, I guess! Have a good weekend!” Teetle? Do you know what that means? I didn’t either. I asked her to repeat it. “I said ‘teetle.’” “Do you mean like toodle-loo? Is that what you’re trying to say? As in, See you later, toodle-loo?” “I would never say that. That sounds dumb.” There was a lull as we tried to figure out how to communicate what, at first glance, appeared to be nothing but a simple, closing remark as she...
That’s how we bring up all children in our family: by ear.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, health, life
I like to think I'm a good uncle. Even though, I don't really know my "real" nieces and nephews. I've seen Millie, once; I've seen Auden, once; I've never meet Vinnie. So, to make up for this: I give all my grand uncle-ness to a series of young cousins, whose mothers I grew up with, as my nieces, being the baby of the adopted family I claimed with their grandmother, who I took as my--- You know what, let me scratch that. It's too confusing. My family tree, you know, is really just an assortment of random branches that were blown down during a storm, and happend to fall around...
It was a 5×3 foot piece of heaven, hanging from fat, rusting chains.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, health, life
Instinctively, I want to say that I have an irrational phobia of horses. But, I realize, when compared next to my other, legitimate phobias like being hit by lightning, or ingesting glass - it isn't quite that severe. So, it's more like a healthy fear and respect for horses that I have, right up there along the lines of my fear of flying...i.e., I can do it, but I don't like it. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I blame my Annie for this fear of horses - there have been two aunts in my life that I loved so deeply...
Am I merely a heathen, now? Is that what this heartburn is indicating?
I don't want to write this blog. I really don't. (Of course, I'm going to, but still...you should know that I don't really want to). I don't want to write it because it's going to force me to seriously consider the points I'm about to make, or attempt to. Points that are more than likely going to be offensive, both about myself and the culture I live in...and probably to one or two of you, at the least. I like God, let me just say that, upfront. I even like Jesus. I don't know when the last time was that I...
God had given him one-half of His Own Right Eye.
[I like to pretend I'm writing my memoirs, all of them at the same time, and so this is an excerpt from my second memoir, entitled The Deer in the Road. Feel free to edit, as you go along. Just don't let Amanda know.] On the outside looking in, I had a tragic childhood, I know, I’ve read that…but that’s only the way the story goes. It has a whole different feel, when it's told. The truth is I had a very conventional upbringing, for the most part, and it included a lot of church. I was brought up by a great uncle, who was also...
I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
Because hands can do everything but lie.
I don't always know what to do with my hands. You might find that ironic for an actor, even more so for an educator. But, it's still the truth. It wasn't anything I ever really noticed until a few years ago. I began to realize that my Nana was fascinated by the frequency with which I used my hands to animate my conversation. She would look less at me and more at my gesturing. Over time, I became so concerned with how I might physcially be telling my story that I began to grow flustered at the dinner table. I didn't know how...
The Art of the Dirty Word.
There are a few things in this world that I would wish on everyone: among those are good friends, Chinese take-out, and a Nana. Everyone should have a Nana. I'll just get that out, right upfront. And everyone should go with their Nana to the doctor and spend the whole day eating ice cream sundaes, getting lost on the way to the doctor's office, and making a sidebar trip to an outlet store for a new pair of Sunday shoes. This is but one important thing that makes a Nana so wonderful. To name another would seem like bragging. And that's just not...
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