At the Bull Races
I could see Joshua stretching, getting ready for his race. I told him stories of my days of glory when I prepared and stretched for my race, all the while the proverbial butterflies fluttered throughout my stomach. He was taking his strides making sure he kept those arms pumping. I wondered whether he has that killer instinct, that ability to destroy his opponents. Since he was a little boy he always showed a gentle spirit. As a kid he always asked for me to read his favorite story before he slept. It was the story of the gentle bull.
The Old Man and the Track Star
It was the last meet of the year. All I could think of was beating Gil. Throughout the year, he was the unattainable speedster. Senior year was my last chance at redeeming myself as one of the best high school quarter milers in the city. How can I be the best if Gil was still one of the best. He was the unattainable, unreachable mountain. My predicament reminded me of that story we read in English class. I never understood it then but I can see the comparison all too well now.
The Last Package
It was spring break. I decided not to go back home but rather catch up on my studies at school. I made a surprise visit the last month so I figured this week I could catch up. I called my folks because it was their anniversary. Dad picked up the phone.
Am I My Chef's Keeper?
World famous Chef Rumsey sat slumped at the front table normally sectioned off for special guests. I arrived, pad and Mont Blanc pen in hand viewing the scenes with the police photographers snapping away, marking the evidence and looking for clues. As lead detective for Special Crimes, I was immediately put in charge of the scene, directing the investigation. Chef Rumsey was found face down in his serving of chocolate cake. His wife was sobbing in the corner being consoled by Rumsey’s brother.
The Treasure Hunt
I was broke. My father told me to think of my financial situation as “lacking funds” rather than that state of mind depicting a shattered spirit. As I headed off to college I felt that I was finally on my own, finally seeking my fortune, finally setting my future. As I arrived at this new world, I stepped off the bus at this small shack like terminal called the greyhound station. This is nothing like Penn Station. The big city lights and noise did not prepare me for this new world. I gazed far into the distance and see atop this hill, a simple clock tower. “Is that it? Is that my school?” I kept asking myself. With very little cash, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to my dorm building.
Just like a dream, you never really know when it began, only that you're in it. Sometimes you're so far into the dream that it seems all too real. I would like to say that everything started with the first kiss. Was it the flirtations, the laughs or the constant nightly phone calls, always in hushed whispers? Whenever it started, I knew too late that I was in too deep. No one was supposed to know, but the more we kept the secret, the more I wanted to shout out my feelings, my eternal deep desire. Here was one small problem: She was living with her boyfriend.
An Unforgotten Man
It was 1984. I asked my girlfriend to the movies, as were the case when people dated (no Instagram, no Facebook, no texts). We sat in the theatre, holding hands, deeply enthralled in the story, waiting for the climax. Does he win the girl? Will she stay with him? The heroine does not but then the song plays at the end. I watch it wanting the song to end because my eyes well up as some unforeseen force hits my chest causing me to rush out with my girlfriend. The words to that song still affect me, but for different reasons. My girlfriend and I grew closer as she thought of me as a more sensitive soul. I felt for the yearning of a movie fairy tale ending. My feelings were not attached to the heroine but to my hero.
Trump Flouts Rule of Law
We need to be very concerned. My clarion call is not hyperbole. We are now looking at President Trump no longer hinting at flouting the rule of law, but actually legitimizing Mr. Arpaio's willingness to defy a Federal Court Order while couching Mr. Arpaio's situation as a witch hunt.President Trump has used this "witch hunt" label as a broad stroke in painting Mr. Arpaio a "victim." Mr. Arpaio's actions cannot be minimized in one small capsule. Let's see who Trump pardoned.