-
⚽ 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.
-
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.
-
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
-
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
-
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
-
She was working behind the counter at one of the local coffee shops. Ice blue hair, a steel ring through both sides of her lip, several piercings through her ears, and one in her nose with the halfway-shaved head, looking a little like Gary Oldman in The Fifth Element. There were a few visible tattoos,
-
The drive out to the dance that October evening wasn’t much to remember, other than the country road we drove out. Nothing to look at except the acres and acres of dry, brown grass, dead or dying from summer’s heat. I don’t remember driving that far out before. In Manteca or Modesto? Sure. That was
-
The talent of being able to slide in and out of conversations without being disruptive or intrusive was a magnificent gift. So was the ability of quiet footfalls, almost ninja-like, a unique capacity that made it possible to hear multiple conversations happening at different times. Some, like the one I happened to overhear, were a
-
Everyone thinks living in California is a glamorous experience, which can be true depending on where you live. But, believe it or not, in October, California gets cold, like other states. October of 1985 was a bit warmer than previous years, the high being in the upper sixties, quite a nice change from the norm.
-
On this warm September day, there weren’t any spiders. There wasn’t any traffic either. On really windy days, guys would bring their model sailplanes out and let them ride the thermals. But there weren’t any remote control pilots either. Just the three boys and Dad, driving to Del Valle. On a school day? It was
-
In the Midwest, it’s time for school. Traffic is a bit dense for students traveling to the university, high school, junior high, and elementary schools between 7 and 8 o’clock each morning. In Missouri, the weather is humid and hot, like the start of most school years. It’s not like the west coast, where
-
Is it just me, or does that question bug you, too? It’s as if people expect some level of success that measures up to what they do, doesn’t it? And no matter what you do, someone else is doing what you can better or working just a little more than you, so it appears you
-
A new school. That’s not what I expected or wanted to happen at age seven. Moving? There’s no good way to articulate it. It sucks. Plain and simple. Moving bites. But if you are a kid and your parents tell you, “Guess what, kiddo? We’re moving 800 miles away from Washington.” Whohoo! 800 miles? It
-
How did I end up in the back of this van? That’s what I’m trying to remember. I had a crush on this girl at school. Her name was Kimaya, I think. It means divine or miracle, and she was beautiful. I mean, gorgeous! Guessing at her parents’ ethnicity, I would say they were Hawaiian
-
Okay, so back to the van and Amanda sitting in the back seat with me, her friends willing to drive me anywhere I wanted. Even Dublin, if I so chose. The problem was I didn’t want to go home. The abuse was too much for my teenage mind. I couldn’t take another day of Bev
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 