Well, the World Cup is being played this month and it is time for America to pay attention to soccer again — just as we do every four years. Did you know that the rest of the world calls it football?
My mother used to tell me, every so often, that I was a Methodist for nine months before I was born. She carried me — so to speak — to the Julia Porter United Methodist Church every Sunday of my pre-natal life.
So it’s Father’s Day and I know it does not have the same impact that Mother’s Day has on card- and flower-sending, gift-buying and celebrating in general — which is OK. We are just men. We get that. No, really. We do.
I have now seen evil.
So here we are, somewhere in Europe. Where, exactly, I would hate to try and guess. Don’t get me wrong — I know where I am, but it is like the old Humphrey Bogart line from Casablanca. “If it’s midnight in Casablanca, Sam, what day is it in New York?”
Monday I was in Normandy. I saw Gold Beach. Members of my party stood on Omaha Beach. Some even waded into the water. I looked up at the cliffs of Point du Hoc and marveled that any human could have done what the Rangers did on that day.
Today I am ready to endorse Jack Kingston in the July 22 Republican primary runoff.
I was late to the party — but I have more than caught up. I am speaking now of the television sitcom — they do still call them sitcoms, don’t they? — “Big Bang Theory.”
It’s finally summertime again and folks will be hitting the road from Kalamazoo to Timbuktu for vacation trips — or, as they say in Europe, people will be on holiday.
I broke my own rule Thursday night and I am glad I did. I accepted a speaking engagement inside the perimeter.
Forgive me if you’ve heard this story before. On second thought, I take that back. Even if I have shared it, this one bears repeating and is probably more relevant today than it was when the incident occurred — back when I had all my hair, among other things.
My lovely wife, Lisa, and I are what you might call climatically incompatible.
I spoke last week at the Milledge Avenue Baptist Church in Athens — yes, I remembered to show up; can’t you let that go? — and was reminded immediately of how much I miss Claude McBride.
While rushing through the Atlanta airport Monday morning I glanced at the main headline on a copy of USA Today in the overpriced newsstand. It had to do with the eruption of gunfire at voting precincts in Ukraine. And yet people voted anyway.
For the first time since the spring of 2004 I do not have a child who is a student at the University of Georgia.
I slid into the cockpit of my car yesterday, just like I do every morning when I go out for an hour of self-imposed torture at the local pool, but on this particular day — I don’t know, maybe it was the wind howling through the trees that made me more aware than normal — on this particular day, I saw my instrument panel, and my car in general, through brand new eyes, as if for the first time, and thought, “Wow!”
There used to be a poster that circulated during the sixties, a part of the Vietnam War protests, that proclaimed, “Suppose they gave a war and nobody came.” Nice sentiment. Didn’t work out that way.
I think it first hit me when the Counselor stepped across in front of me and took a seat beside my lovely wife, Lisa. That would be Jeremy (Manifest Destiny) Dailey, soon to be graduate of the University of Georgia School of Law.
I went out for a stroll the other day and got caught in the rain. Walking in the rain. What a marvelous thing it can be, assuming that it is not too cold.
It’s the silly season again in U.S. education — although I am not sure there is any other kind these days.
Easter. Christ is risen.
Throughout my childhood, Good Friday was always the day upon which my daddy would pronounce it safe to plant anything that anyone intended to plant in the North Georgia Piedmont.
I remember the very first time I ever set eyes on Terri Hubbard Cooper. How many people can we say that about in our lives?
I don’t know what it is about these two weeks in April, but I know that they have always led to significant drama in the history of this great country. Some of the most memorable events in the fabric that makes up the tapestry that is the United States of America have occurred on or around the particular dates we are navigating this week or will navigate next.
Remember the television word game, Password? I bet it has been a long time since you’ve thought about that one. I believe the way it worked was that people played in teams and one partner would give clues to try and help the other partner guess the word at hand.
When I was a high school student, way back in the previous century, Fridays were special. In the fall there were football games, which meant that the players on the football team wore their jerseys to school but, more importantly, the cheerleaders wore their uniforms. Short skirts — very short skirts — were the order of the day.
I went to bed Thursday night with a nice and shiny black SUV in my driveway. I woke up with a sickening yellow SUV in my driveway. Like a sneak attack from above, the pollen season is upon us.
The National World War II Museum is tucked away in downtown New Orleans, on the corner of Magazine Street and Andrew Higgins Boulevard.
The Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, Tenn. I indulged myself, and the group that was with me, by having Sunday brunch at the Peabody. Perhaps overindulged would be more correct.
I have spent almost a year now trying to convince myself that I didn’t miss the classroom. Truth be known, there are a lot of things about modern education that I really don’t miss — and I have certainly enjoyed my first 10 months of retirement. Let’s just say that I have found a few ways to keep busy.
I spend a lot of time waxing nostalgic about the good old days, which — truth be told — might or might not have been quite as good as I recall. I do miss those days when we were a kinder and gentler society.
I suppose I am among the majority of Americans, and people in general, who don’t particularly like change. Not only do I not embrace it, I have been known to run away and climb a tree to get away from it.
We buried Lewis Grizzard 20 years ago. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? That it has been that long?
I could write continuously for the next four weeks — not even stopping for meals — and not tell the entire story of my pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
March is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb. I’m not sure if it realizes that, but one thing is for sure — you never know what might happen once that month arrives.
Last week my lovely wife, Lisa, and I enjoyed a “Throwback Sunday.”
I have often referred to California and Hollywood in particular as Granola Land. You know, because it is home to so many fruits and nuts. I have visited Hollywood and Vine on a few occasions and seen a lot of very strange things that have strengthened my opinion.
All my life I have read about Jesus being led into the wilderness after his baptism, where he fasted for 40 days. I was always amazed by that. Forty days is a long time, y’all.
It was a wise man, indeed, who said, “One should never watch laws or sausage being made.” I assure you, you won’t care for either if you do.
Things have really changed in education since I first entered a classroom in 1958. To my parents, being in school was the most important task I would have for the next 12 years — or 16 years — or 55 years. Being in school was my job and if Tommie and Homer Huckaby passed anything along to their second child it was their work ethic.
The Winter Olympics have come a long way since Squaw Valley, y’all.
I have only known you for about 22 months now, but in that short time I have come to love you. I know that’s a little weird, but it is a solid gold fact. I will never forget the first time I met you. I came to you in tears, actually. I was low on hope and full of anxiety and believed that I was living out the last months of my life. Statistics and all. You know how it is.
In the midst of all the mania surrounding all the hoopla over the historic and catastrophic ice storm of the past week, you might have overlooked the passing of a true American icon. Shirley Temple — America’s Sweetheart — passed away at the age of 85. A little piece of all of us is gone.
If you aren’t from around here, Guy Sharpe was an Atlanta “weatherman” back in the day. He was not a meteorologist, in any way, shape or form. He was just a TV weatherman, back when they stood in front of a national map covered with markings for various fronts and low-pressure systems.
Legend in women’s basketball leaves giant legacy
Believe it or not, but I’ve never been one to get all wrapped up in the college football recruiting wars, at least not since Lewis Grizzard reported that Herschel Walker was going to forgo college football and take a job at Clyde’s Filling Station in Wrightsville.
My daddy used to tell a story about the first time he drove a car with an air-conditioner. It wasn’t his, by the way. It was up in September — a hot sultry day — and he stopped and offered a lift to an old farmer who was walking to town. After a few minutes the farmer asked Daddy to stop and let him out.
If you are a regular reader of this column you are aware that I devote a lot of time and energy to maintaining my Southerness. It’s not an easy thing in today’s society.
It was a really unusual snow day for me.
Finding new enjoyment from old Westerns