Good Morning, You know, I’ve been praying a lot these days for folks who are suffering a silencer’s toll, and I’ve been praying for my graduating guidance and wisdom to always lead me in the right direction as I move forward in my wonderful life. My Ma-Maw, my Uncle Freddie and my Aunt Patti taught me long ago how the power of faith and prayer can help you have the courage to face anything in life if you just open your heart. My Grandmother Nonnie taught me to open my mind to all that is possible in life even if
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Hello Nooga-Lawners I very rarely share my nightly prayers, for many different reasons, but tonight is different. With tragedy so close to home, I share because I care I pray for the members of the families of the fallen and all innocent men and women across the world who die at the hands of senseless bigotry and selfish acts of cowardice perpetrated in the name of God or Allah I pray somehow love and forgiveness, not hate and retribution, will fill the sadness of those stricken with the duties of carrying such soul burdens I pray this circumstance will never
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Good morning! As my Olympic talker career slowly comes to an end and my verbal business-retirement is imminent, reflection is upon me. Like every great olympic talker before me, I hope to use my gifts and talents to make the world a better place . I bring with me; my golden East Tennessee inflection, my silver tongue dialect, my bronze storytelling ability and my monetized gift of gab; to the non-verbal, non-profit and socially responsible public sector. This decision is not an easy one but as I traverse uncharted public waters I promise to be honest, socially responsible and economically
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Was it Paul Revere who said, “sorry for waking you, but the British are coming?” Fortunately or unfortunately (it depends on which friend or family member of mine you ask) the martyrdom side of my personalities, along with my natural protectionist neuroses, combined with my sociolinguistic tendencies are working in overdrive these days telling me to share my Chinese drywall story with every person I meet. And yet my intellectual insecurities manage to suppress my natural sagaciousness every time. “Will people think I’m batshit crazy if I tell them my Chinese drywall story”, is almost a daily dialogue with myself.
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My year is 1976 and my price tag for fun is a garden hose, a song, a rain dance and a hot summer sun.  I spend my days watching my Daddy-O and my Mommy Gah in my yard, my house or my car diligently working to make my  world (50′ wide x 125′  lot on Rolling Hill’s drive in Johnson City, TN) a better place. “Outside” is my neighborhood playground and “rolling down the hill” is my best amusement ride. My neighborhood sign reads “no rules” (except the golden rule) “no boundaries” (just look twice and run fast) and my
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Growing up in the seventies in Johnson City, TN is like growing up in every small to mid size town in America. Most of the people you meet are white, most of the store owners are “hey there” friends of your parents, most of the people pretty much look and act the same and most of the grandparents live pretty close by. My first memory is the sound of my mother’s voice explaining what Kindergarten is and why I have to go. My Mommy Gah explains, “you’re going to Southside School because your brother goes to Southside School.” She explains,
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My first morning of second grade starts with my Mommy Gah doing the “nudge-and-a poke” shuffle; my Daddy-O following with the “are you gonna sleep all day” spotlight; and my brother pitching the “you’re going to miss the school bus” speech. I begin my day like most other days; brushing my teeth with my brother’s toothbrush, shuffling my feet until I reach the door on the right, falling back asleep on my white water bucket next to my swimming pool, listening to my Mommy Gah preach her morning sermon about doing better and helping more around our house. She keeps
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I’m standing at my bright reddish-orange shag carpet Christmas tree window; waiting, watching, expecting my Mommy Gah to come home. Nonnie, my “childhood life partner” is smoking like a chimney in the other room telling me to calm down. “It’ll be ok” she says, “your mother is only going to beat you within an inch of your life, but you’ll survive” Nonnie reassures me. Nonnie encourages me to sit down and please explain to her what happen (Nonnie is and always will be my childhood confidant) I know if I convince her, then I’ll definitely convince my Mommy Gah. So
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My Mommy Gah’s yellow Volvo station wagon pulls in my driveway just as I am finishing my daily peanut butter and jelly sandwich snack.   My Nonnie  yells, ” your mother is here,  run for your lives!!!” My wise Appalachian grandmother, who knows trouble loves company, told my brother he is in trouble too. Earlier that afternoon Nonnie explained to Chistopersteinavinsky,   he got the scissors from the house, so he has skin in the game too. I love my Nonnie so much,  because it is her way of keeping the brother/sister, male/female dynamic in check,  and alive and well
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“Sweetie, you need to start watching where you’re going”, my soft spoken, beautiful North CarolinaGrandmother, Ma-Maw tells me on my hot summer afternoon day. Earlier that day I had fallen and busted my head wide open at my Aunt Patti’s house. The result of an attempt to grab a wayward basketball pass, from my cousin Deanna, led me straight into the edge of a brick wall and left me with a crack in my head from my eyebrow to the top of my forehead. My cousin Kim, ran up to get help, while my cousin Eric held his t-shirt on
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