Giggling at hell

Giggling at hell

There’s a man who makes birdhouses. He’s a jolly guy, the kind you’d think would be good to suit up as Santa come December. He’s…

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This is our home

This is our home

The kid’s shot to right field was the kind that made you gasp. It came off the bat like a laser, and it didn’t matter…

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Threadbare troubadour

Threadbare troubadour

Getting old is easy. It happens without your permission. It happens on its own. It’s literally effortless. The hard part is finding any good in…

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Remembering the first kill

Remembering the first kill

This week in Arizona, a nine-year-old girl shot and killed her shooting instructor by accident. The instructor was teaching the little girl to shoot an…

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A letter to an American kid

A letter to an American kid

I will never forget the day you were born. I will never forget the day you turned ten years old. They were both days that…

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Daddy's medicine

Daddy’s medicine

During the World Cup, ESPN Senior Writer Wright Thompson became enamored with a hot sauce he found in Central America. Inspired (or, perhaps a little…

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The email my son won't get

The email my son won’t get

Hey, buddy. We dropped you off at camp yesterday. We watched you sit on your bunk in a cabin you’d never seen before. We met…

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Mom's pencil

Mom’s pencil

One of my earliest memories—one’s that just gauzy enough to prove its age, but just clear enough to be truer than most—is a pencil in…

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Mr. Andy

Mr. Andy

My younger son met Mr. Andy at our local grocery store. Mr. Andy bagged groceries for hours on every shift. Once the bags were in…

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The monsters are real

The monsters are real

I grew up on the west side of Springfield, Missouri. If you look on the left part of Springfield’s gridded streets you will find the…

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