“Could you tell me where the sizes 7’s are?” Lori asked a young man standing at the store’s counter. We were in the mall, where a well-known shoe store offered her many options. “I’m sorry, I’m ‘off the clock,’” he responded. He wasn’t being sarcastic or angry; he just matter-of-factly commented, “I’m off the clock.” …
It’s how the Looney Tunes Cartoon hour would conclude on Saturday mornings. Porky Pig would poke his head through a curtain fashioned into the image of a drum and stammer, “Th-th-th-th-that’s all folks.” It signaled to my 7- or 8-year-old mind that the fun part of Saturday morning was over. It was now an ordinary Saturday. …
Our son, David Jr., was always a happy child. When he was but three or four, I nicknamed him my “Happy Tiger,” so playful and joyful was he. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when early one Easter morning, before dawn, David, then 7 or 8 years old, awoke me with a shout. I was …
A little boy was sick on Palm Sunday and stayed home from church with his mother. His Father returned from church holding a palm branch. The little boy was curious and asked, “Why do you have that palm branch, Dad?” “You see, when Jesus came into town, everyone waved palm branches to honor him, so …
I hear it from fellow travelers in the airport or on the plane: “Flying isn’t fun anymore.” About the time I’m ready to dismiss the comment as mindless repetition, something happens to confirm the grumbles. Like the other day, when we were flying back from Oklahoma. Our airline had routed us through Houston, where we …