Oh, man. Here we go again. A new year, meaning we’re about to make another butt-load of New Year’s Revolutions.
If we’re fortunate enough to live a fairly long life, chances are we’ve managed to accumulate some pretty special loot, considering all the Christmases we’ve celebrated. I don’t remember every gift I’ve ever received, but I sure remember a lot of them, and I remember those for different reas…
Some move in a slow shuffle, maybe while slightly stooped over. Others walk with a noticeable limp, if they can walk at all. If not, they’re in wheelchairs or other vehicles designed to help them move around.
Somewhere, I thought, Blackbeard the Pirate was laughing his eye-patch off at me. Jean Lafitte was having a la-fit. I wasn’t a modern-day Captain Kidd. I was “Captain with Kidds.”
Five grown men — all of us pretty big guys — piled into a tiny hospital room for days. My brothers and I, along with our stepdad, were there to say goodbye to my mother. The docs had already told us it was just a matter of time, and none of us wanted to leave her side.
As the cowboys in the chute helped strap me onto the bull’s back, I had a couple of flashbacks serving to remind me that what I was about to do was a bad, bad idea.
More than 10 years ago, a local sports reporter attended a Lufkin High School football practice in hopes of interviewing head coach John Outlaw for a season preview. The Panthers were only a few short years removed from having won their first state title, and the reporter wanted to know if t…
Several years ago, I was on the sidelines for a Lufkin Panther football game when a player I’d been tutoring in English got smacked right in front of me. I’m talking a big hit: a slobber knocker, de-cleater, whatever you want to call it.
Try Googling “Stages of Parenthood,” and you’ll get about as confused as a first-time dad trying to maneuver his way around a diaper. If you read all the selections offered, you’ll have people claiming anywhere from four to 10 stages of that particular time in one’s life.
It all resembled a scene out of one of the great courtroom dramas, only instead of “To Kill a Mockingbird,” my siblings and I were staging “To Kill a Rose Bush.”
still don’t know why our daughter insisted on having me attend some of her various wedding-planning gatherings. I’m a guy, and have been all my life, so when it comes to stuff like that I’m pretty much worthless as boobs on a bull.
The standard depiction of a trophy wife is usually that of a younger woman married to a much older, wealthier man. This description suggests that the man has somehow won some sort of award just for getting old and rich, while the woman has traded sleeping with a wrinkled bag of bones for a l…