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⚽ Twelve 8-year-olds + 200mg of caffeine + one mortified coach = the best bar story you’ll hear today. Trust us, you want to hear how this ends.
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A late-night traffic stop becomes a reminder: storytelling connects us, grounds us, and makes us known. In a world of strangers, our stories are how we find our way home.
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Grant’s thoughts about purchasing the Toyota snapped away when the officer softly tapped the driver’s side window. “Hello? Can you roll down the window for me, sir?” Grant didn’t realize the young officer was standing next to his door. The lights were blinding and hypnotizing all at the same time. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.” He quickly
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Before I was old enough to read, I told stories. Imagination incubated, spit out into the world through my limited toddler vocabulary. After being taught how to read and write, the magic turned from oral stories to written stories. Now I was writing my own material, reading everything I could to get ideas, even the
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Staring right at me, I thought she would start screaming, yelling at the top of her lungs. Before you start in on me, I just want to set the record straight – I didn’t start this argument. No. Really. I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault. But then again, the guilty always have a way of
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Father, Wake me in the morning. Fill my lungs with breath. Strengthen my legs to run. Give me imagination, vision, and light. Let me see everything You have graciously given me. The sun rises because You love us. You show me how to be a good father. You hold me in Your hand through grief
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COVID-19. That’s what broke us, fracturing our collective cultural souls. Locking our doors to keep out the virus. Watching our neighbors’ suspicious activity. Somehow we lost two full years of casual, everyday interactions. The very ones reminding us we are human.Two years later, emerging from our isolation, we forgot. We stopped being kind. Today a
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When two cops knock on your best friend’s bedroom door at 7:45 AM looking for you, every instinct screams run. But at fifteen, where do you go when the law is on the wrong side? Some knocks change everything. Some systems fail everyone. A true story about family, justice, and survival.
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The room goes silent when Lorne Michaels says he wants to change a few words. Blood rushes to my ears. My heart pounds. In seconds, I’ll make a choice changing everything.
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The phone rings on the other side of the cubicle. “This is Johnson,” the voice answering it sings, like he’s on a Broadway stage. No. Probably off-Broadway, because it’s Johnson. He’s my suitemate with a penchant for various types of musicals, but opera singers like Pavarotti? That’s where his passion lives. That, and anything musical
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A stranger in Pioneer Square quotes lines from banned books. Ink-stained fingers. Knowledge of old stories makes him dangerous. But it’s what he knows about me that turns my blood cold. In a world without books, how does he know my name?
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George Orwell wrote about 1984. I lived through it. They weren’t the same thing. Junior high was worse.
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Outrage? That’s easy. Love? That’s a whole lot harder. And I’m tired of wounding people with my words. This is my messy, hopeful attempt at fighting less, loving better, and hopefully helping others to heal.
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 