Morning rituals, learned by watching, carried forward long after the reasons have changed. I’ve been thinking a lot about socks; not wearing them that is. Now that my coat and tie, 8 to 5 days are gone, I am looking to simplify? Letting-go, however, of this article is easier said than done. From the Latin soccus, meaning a light, low heeled foot covering; socks have been around since the Stone age, 5000 BC. Animal skin and plants, or straw were first used as functionaries

A children’s book and an old Boy Scout compass become unlikely guides, reminding me that kindness, once given, has a way of pointing us home.

A mother can have a great impact on what makes a young man tick. Hannah Spenner, a mental health writer, says a mother influences a person's attachment style, their emotional regulation, empathy, cognitive development and social skills. There is the helicopter mom, the cool mom, the crunchy mom, the workout mom, the absent mom, the zen mom to name a few according to a google search about mom types. How a mom impacts a son might be different than how a mom impacts a daughter.

My Uncle Bill stretched back in his recliner, eyes closed, a Budda smile, headphones were slightly askew over his full head of gray hair. He was in his late 80’s. I knew he was listening to the Mets and that night they were struggling with the Cardinals. I’d tuned in the game on the TV across from him. My Aunt Alberta, his wife, my dad’s sister, was somewhere nearby in their Larchmont home, leaving us alone to watch sports and catch up on news. I’d only visited him several

My friend’s older sister died. I rang him up at his Connecticut home. Rich, melodic, ”Hello.” “It’s McGee,” I said. “Hey.” I got to the subject. “I heard Val died. I'm so sorry.” Pause…. “I appreciate it. Thanks. She died on the 29th. She’d been sick and had a recurrence. I got a chance to go out there and spend some time with her before it happened,” he said. “She’d become a Buddhist. She didn’t complain about her situation, accepting it all it seemed.” “I always liked

“Of course you have heard of Pascal’s Wager?” my friend asked. “Uh, remind me,” I said, knowing where his question was headed. Our recent conversations had turned to matters of the hereafter and who was still left from our old college gang. We let the young waitress refill our coffee and gather-up our pastry plates. Now retired from a legal career, my friend had returned to school for a masters in theology. Well, he said, Pascal argued when in doubt whether God exists, wh

The United States Census Bureau says that today nearly 18.5 million children grow up in homes without fathers, giving the United States the title of leader in fatherlessness. That 18.5 figure seems low. The National Center for Fatherlessness, said that 57.6 percent of black children, 31.2 percent of hispanic and 20.7 percent of white children grow up living without their biological fathers. Those that have no fathers in the home are more likely to commit crimes, have a troubl

He picked up his plate and with deference to the others said, “I’m going to eat with my friend.” The mostly white-haired men at his table nodded and said, “Thanks for coming, Coach. Good to see you.” All eyes followed him across the room as he sat down in the seat next to me. It was somewhere in the late 1980’s. We were at a restaurant on Camelback Road in Phoenix and at an intra Kiwanis club luncheon. The room settled after the President of my club tapped his spoon lightly

I cleared my throat, dimpled the Windsor knot in my tie and knocked. A TV blared on the other side of the door. It was January 20th, 1981, 5 pm. I was at a Ramada Inn, Phoenix. Arizona, and had just gotten off work from my day job as a Superior Court investigator. A week earlier I’d received a letter to my employment inquiry instructing me to meet this day, this time, a Mr. Jenkins: Central Intelligence Agency Recruiter. The television volume was lowered; the door swung open.

“McGee!” he yelled, digging his fingers into my girdle pads, jerking me backwards. “I said, line up off the right shoulder of the tackle. Can’t you hear?” My heart pounded. My mouth dried up. From behind me there were nervous chuckles from my fellow players. It was afternoon, late August, humidity 90 percent in mid Missouri. Across the field in the new swimming pool, Donovan’s Mellow Yellow blasted from a speaker. It was sophomore football and in these times in my town, high