Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories »
The Water Into Wine Funeral
So there I am, second row, behind the family, the paternal grandmother of the boy to my left, the maternal grandfather of the boy to my right, the mother, there she is, one chair
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The Family 9/11
Many zip codes away, two parents are signing organ donor forms for their son, age 16. Friday was innocent, until it wasn’t. Small school football, makes a routine tackle, doesn’t get up. Sirens to
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Somebody Has To Do The Wondering
Saw a pack of youngsters, all looking at their phones, such a different way of growing up, and I wondered, will their brains turn out different than mine? Even among my age peers,
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Secrets To My Sanity
I avoid politics like I avoided little green peas on my childhood plate. There’s so much news, it goes so fast, what seemed so Crisis! yesterday is today barely mentioned, and there it
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The Home Road
There came a recent day, where I handed the keys of the building to the agent. We shook, we parted, we glanced at the time. It was before noon, and Eighty-one, this business, this
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Exhilaration
Eighty-one was (it feels odd to use past tense) as unique a store as Lake Charles has ever had. During the closing phase, I felt, and wrote, that it was like being alive at
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Finishing Strong
I think about heaven a lot. (As first sentences go…) No experience with perfection, so I reduce it to how-it-is-down-here… some angel bureaucracy in charge of admittance, couldn’t let you just rush in, meet
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The Last Days Of Eighty-one
…as Eighty-one nears its end (June 29th!)… its fitting to answer the most asked question, “How did Eighty-one get its name?” Answer: “it’s the owner’s IQ.” Drum rim shot. For those of a certain
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The Honor Of Menial Labor
I’m a word guy, which means I have a great fondness for the creativity of black slang. Years ago, I’m a waiter in a restaurant, and at closing we all had some duties. I
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The Proper Attitude Towards Invisibility
It came down to Good versus Better. I own Eighty-one, a retail store, and I’m Good for what it asks of me, but I’m Better at writing. For years I’ve had this inner whisper,
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