The father squatted down on the patch of mud and dead grass. The little boy, maybe five or six, stood beside him, watching closely as his father pushed the metal legs of the stand into the soft earth, which in January should have been bedrock. The father straightened up, stepped back, placed his hands on…
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The green wreath tacked to the back of the wooden bench was no bigger than a dinner plate. A note card fixed next to the wreath, lacquered over in tape, read: Please do not remove this wreath. It is for my late husband to whom this bench is dedicated. I glanced to the right…
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Reporter Alex Bozarjian, a journalist with the NBC News affiliate out of Savannah, Georgia, was broadcasting live from an annual holiday charity race when a runner named Tommy Callaway slapped her on the behind as he jogged past. A quick poll of long-distance runners reveals that this is completely acceptable, totally normal behavior when you’re…
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I had no idea why Dad was so grumpy. They were just leaves–piles of them that he had spent the last hour raking onto a big, blue tarp and hauling off into the woods at the edge of our yard. While my father raked, my brother and I chased each other around the yard, diving,…
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We’re all brave somewhere. I’m brave on paper. A woman friend of mine recently confronted a man on an airplane. This seems equal parts courageous and unadvisable. You’re already sardined into the equivalent of a flying Dairy Whip canister with nothing between one another but flimsy pieces of plastic and a bag containing six off-brand…
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