Clear Springs seniors Sierra Cheatham and Tasharian Robinson recently received the type of recognition that head girls basketball coach Pam Crawford saw the potential for each player when she first met them years ago.
Growing up as a kid, the spotting of red kettles on street corners and hearing the sound of hypnotic bell ringing was as much a symbol of the arrival of the Christmas season as Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
But isn’t that the point of the flag burner? Isn’t the action of the intentional destruction of a deeply shared symbol designed to provoke a powerful reaction in others? Does the burning of the flag, an emotionally terrifying as it is to some, make the action a perfect tool to motivate and inspire discussion?
“I needed a place to go for Thanksgiving dinner.”
I woke up Wednesday morning feeling like it was 1984.
Often in life we preoccupy ourselves with the intent of avoiding failure at all costs — as if doing so will guarantee our personal growth and success in life. And then I remember a small dead bush.
Last week I found myself apologizing to both my voting-age children for the state of today’s national election.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with these kids today.”
My grandmother was gone long before her body gave out.
I am convinced God put dogs and man together for a reason.
Bluer than blue.
“In America, anyone can grow up to be the President.”
I’m lucky to be alive.
Democracy is alive and well — at least in one small town in the Hill Country of Texas.
Newton had his apple; I have my acorn.
My wife and I finish each other’s sentences — but not for the reasons you might think.
Cleaning out the garage never felt so good.
As much as time passes, it remains the same.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the “you are the sum of your parts” theory.
Elie Wiesel, Nobel Peace Prize winner and Holocaust survivor, died within a week of when the ugliest chapters in modern American race relations broke out — leaving five Dallas police officers dead — and proving as a society, we have yet to learn from the painful lessons of our past.
The Fourth of July is more than hot dogs, colorful banners and fireworks.
Something is in the electorate’s water — and the status quo better watch out.
One week after the bullets stopped flying at an Orlando club – leaving 49 people dead – the impact of the killings stubbornly remains behind.
Sunday morning, with cable television and social media spewing reports of the mass killings in an Orlando nightclub, I found myself feeling uncomfortably numb.
Earlier this week, I saw a dead woman walk out of the surf. That’s what her daughter had feared, at least.
Details matter — especially to Bob.
Technology is beginning to take the fun out of life.
With last week’s arrival of Mother’s Day came a wash of memories for me.
“What you’re doing is the ultimate act of love.”
It was a cold, wintry day. No, actually, it was May.
My hand accepts a paper cup anonymously extending outward from behind an orange water cooler. The cup feels cool to my fingertips.
“You know,” I said, speaking to a friend. “I might need to be a bit more careful at my age.”
In life, it seems we have two choices: live life knowing we will eventually run out of time, or simply run out the clock.
The biggest hands I ever shook are tied to one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever met.
Only a week before, I’d first seen the homeless man in the oversized sweatshirt entering a rear door during a local church service.
Sometimes, all it takes is a hug.
“So what is the secret to a long, happy marriage?”
One day you’ll wake up and be out of time.
Recently, I found myself performing the hallowed duties of judging a spelling bee held by a local rotary club.
My grandmother was big on manners. So much so, they once put her in a letter writing exchange with the most powerful man on the planet.
Valentine’s Day scares the daylights out of most men.
Jimmy’s passing will undoubtedly be felt throughout Galveston County.
You don’t have to meet someone in order to be inspired by his actions.
The man is trying to sell me on his company’s services, but his words surprisingly transcend the moment and populate my mind to a completely unrelated situation.
I’m sitting in the booth of a local restaurant when I find myself talking with a friend about the good work he does for the homeless. Tireless in his compassion, he and a handful of others work year around to help those who’ve dropped of the grid of society — sharing a simple brown bag meal, bottle of clean water, and a warm smile.
According to a popular post on social media this week, the Powerball jackpot carried the potential to eliminate poverty in the United States.
Faith, I realize, does not mean you will always get what you want. Rather, faith is understanding that while you may not like the immediate outcome, there may be a larger picture you are unable to see or appreciate at the moment.
Yesterday I unexpectedly walked up on a zombie. Well, not an actual, no-blood-coursing-through-the-veins or hungry-to-snack-on-my-insides variety, but a zombie all the same.
This time next week we will all be living in the future. The question is, will it be any different from today? And if we wish for life to be any different from today, do we have the courage and conviction to make it so?
The sand is white; my friends are not.
The other day I found myself passing through a local coffee shop. At a small table near the door sat two white-haired gentlemen — one significantly older than the other. On the wooden desk before them sat scattered papers and other reading materials.
“God leaves his toughest battles for His strongest soldiers.”
Thanksgiving is not about a turkey dinner. No, rather today is about us giving thanks — both directly and indirectly — to those who make our lives full. It also is a time for us to give thanks for the blessings bestowed on us as well as openly share wishes for others in the world.
This time next year we will have elected a new President of the United States.
There is a growling at my feet — and it means business.
My childhood home, the one my father and my mother purchased years ago to raise my brother and me, is officially closed. Gone is the furniture, gone are the worn-out bicycles, gone are the old newspaper clippings saved for a long forgotten reason. Hollow rooms now echo with the slightest of footsteps.