There were a lot of crappy foods in my childhood meal rotations— cereals with way too much sugar, cheap meats, odd sandwich combinations and frozen dinners— but I never ate macaroni and cheese until I was in my 40s. To this day, I have only eaten mac and cheese a few times.
It’s almost August. Where has this year gone? August 31 is my one and only grandchild’s birthday. He is an only child. My grandmother seems to have set a precedent for that with her being an “only,” my dad being an “only” and me being an “only.”
Author’s Note: Portions of the following column are included in a foreword I wrote for the upcoming book, “Life Lessons for Our Grandchildren,” by Marilyn Tinnin. You’ll be able to find the book in all of usual places this fall.
I’m often disgusted with politics and hype and silliness. You’ll find POLITICS everywhere, even in an office atmosphere, sometimes in a church atmosphere — anywhere there are people.
Every parent has a go-to breakfast. In our house, my wife typically makes the before-school morning meal. Most days, I was already at work while the kids were preparing for school. I fill in on occasion with daddy breakfasts.
A few years ago, I spent a week in Northern California with a group of people who were gathered together from all over the country. One afternoon, someone turned to me and asked, “Where do you live?”
The nose is a the receptacle for many objects stuffed in there by little squirts — mostly little boys who have no “couth” whatsoever. Their goal in life is to embarrass, mystify and generally gross out parents and all bystanders. The more the merrier. It’s their job and they take it seriously.