Approximately thirty seconds before dismissal, one of my first graders asks me what wind is. I freeze up, sixteen first grade faces watching me, they all suddenly want to know what wind is, right now, right this moment. I’m 41 years old, and I honestly have no idea.
Wayne liked the idea of hiding something within, a little surprise to be discovered by whoever was lucky (or unlucky) enough to receive that particular slice of pie.
It’s a weird brag, but that’s what the parents tell me. Though they don’t say monster. They say, Shuck him another!
My son and my nephew, in their early thirties, both scientists, were sitting in my kitchen drinking and talking about going to Mars, while I stood at the stove flipping burgers.
My brother leaves Alabama for Philadelphia to be a bone broth barista because it’s cooler to sip
liquified bones than a Starbucks pumpkin latte, and leaving your family for a fad isn’t a betrayal.
It’s summer, and Ada Lynn obsesses over any boy with armpit hair.