Growing Up with Weapons
When I was five years old I was made to follow my daddy around acres of hedgerows, up and over levees, through cornfields and woodlands, an empty 4-10 shotgun in my...
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A Real Boy
I woke up feeling drowsy and stiff and instantly felt Papa chipping away at me, a little at a time. I tried to focus in on what he was working on today. I hear him...
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A Musician’s Tools
I have on the wall in my therapy office an old African detergent can with a cruddy piece of stick coming out of the top strung with some found wire. Most folks consider...
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Carrying on the Tradition
Dear Wonderful Readers, I thought for my first entry I would go back to my very earliest writings as a sensitive young teenager trying to put together his first...
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After the Cold War
My parents were secret agents. I’m not kidding. But the cold war is over now and the secrets can finally be told (keeping in mind, of course Mark Twain’s...
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