“I’ve never done this before,” I said to my patient sitting in my office.
I’ve always been a bookworm.
Once in a while a person is fortunate enough to bear witness to a special moment.
I've lived in the South all of my life.
The National Anthem was a troubling song when I was growing up.
Little boys learn which sport to love from their fathers. For some, it’s baseball, others football or basketball - even hockey. Although Pop liked all sports, he loved boxing.
As the end of the school year approaches, many of the local high school drama clubs and choral classes are having their end of the year shows.
Every fourth year medical student knows the date. They have no other plans that morning.
What do you get when you give 200-plus college kids a week off and the keys to a 190-acre, multimillion-dollar summer camp facility?
Leaving the seat up. Not using the hamper. Close-talking.
Coach Malcolm Pendergrass gave each of us football players a summer workout running program. It was the spring of 1984 and we had mightily moved the Harriman football program from a winless 0-10 season in 1982 to a 3-7 season in 1983 (well, it seemed mighty to us). He wanted us in better shape in the fall. He wasn’t going to monitor us or have us write down how much we did. He expected we wanted to be better and would do it. We did.
With teachers and students on spring break in Sevier County this past week, it almost felt as if I, too, had a week of vacation.
Having a kid with autism sure makes for some interesting birthdays.
I have retired. No, no, no — not from the field of medicine. I have retired from practical jokes.
“There’s sucker born every minute.”
Recently several readers have asked how karate is going. OK, only one of you asked and was subsequently forced to endure my lengthy explanation. Such is the plight of a wife, I suppose.
My mother sold World Books door to door in and around Roane County for many years when I was a boy. She has the gift for selling and later on, when she worked at the local Montgomery Ward store, sold so many microwaves that an executive from the manufacturer called to see how she was doing it.
t’s becoming a more and more regular occurrence that a reader approaches me to offer a word on what I write in this space each week.
He knew he was a defeated man, succumbing to the power that he loved, who now had him sitting in my office waiting for the self-imposed doom that had weighed on his mind for over a decade.
As the drama of two llamas racing through the streets of an Arizona city captivated TV audiences as scores of folks on social media last week, my brain shot back to my first journalism job out of college and an odd call we heard over the police scanner.
With the recent cabin fever, my wife began combing through seed catalogs in preparation to start a small garden this spring. We fully intend to force our children to grow at least one item they consider edible so they can plant, cultivate and eventually consume the product of their own efforts.
What a week.