Last week, in this space, you read about the passing of Ethel Stokes, the longtime Manchester kindergarten teacher who nurtured the souls of two generations of students — more than 2,400 — in a 30-year career. Everybody in the community knew her, and loved her. She was a hero, to be sure.
But there are all kinds of heroes.
It stated in her obituary that, in 32 years teaching kindergarten and first grade in the Manchester school system, she introduced more than 2,400 children to school life.
SOME FOLKS LOVE a good prank. Others love reading about them. I love both … that is as long as I’m not the victim or, as I call it, the “prankee.”
What if we could take March Madness and incorporate it into all other aspects of our lives? That is, what if we could seed those aspects from best to worst, just like it’s done with teams in the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament that’s going on now?
It stated in her obituary that, in 32 years teaching kindergarten and first grade in the Manchester school system, she introduced more than 2,400 children to school life.
But that was selling her way short. What wasn’t mentioned was how many of those children reached their potential in school because of Ethel Stokes.
I’M NOT SURE why everyone’s so up in arms over gun control. I’m not. My understanding of any proposed legislation is that it’s designed to control the sale of assault weapons, not game hunting or target guns. After all, for what other reason would you need a gun? If you’ll notice, I didn’t say “ban.” I said “control.”
OVER THE YEARS I’ve discovered that columns like this are the most difficult to write, even more so when the subject is a relative or friend. Bill Allen was the latter, although at times he did seem more like an older brother. Our friend, a native Portage Laker, Coventry resident and local recording star, died of pulmonary hypertension on Feb. 22.
I’ve never been a big fan of opening my mail. In my household, the mail doesn’t usually bring glad tidings. It’s mostly bills, bills and more bills. Occasionally, the bills are supplemented with a party invitation, a holiday card or something else equally joyful. But most of the time, as I stand in the driveway sifting through the envelopes, I am on edge.
With the unexpected resignation of Pope Benedict XVI, the papal doors were swept wide open. The same day he announced his resignation due to infirmities, papal pundits named favorites and a London bookie already set odds. Named as potential popes are cardinals from Italy, Europe, Ghana, Nigeria, the Philippines and both of the Americas.
Don’t do it. You may think about it, but please, don’t do it. I’m talking about suicide. It just isn’t worth it.
SHE LIES BY my feet faithfully, occasionally gazing my way as she patiently awaits a quick rub, a pat on the head or a nibble of my vittles. During the Super Bowl, Sadie Lou was deep into following all the action of the game when the field went dark. As if on cue, she ambled over to my chair and patiently waited for the lights to return.
In the days leading up to it, the matchup between Lake and Jackson high schools on Feb. 8 was being billed as the boys basketball game of the year in the Federal League.
Good news, folks. Perhaps great news. Two weeks ago, I covered Kaufman's Fish Fry closing. If it opens for Lent, I wrote, you’ll read about it first, right here in the “Outtakes” column.
When Lynn Wess took over – for the first time – as the head boys basketball coach at Coventry High School in 1983, he said his goal was “to just coach as long as I could.”
Well, kids, this column’s for you. Now I know that many of you don’t read and don’t understand big fancy words yet, so I’ll try to keep the language down to earth to help you understand. If you can’t read, ask someone to read this to you.
Whew. Now that it’s over, I can report how close a call it was! About a week and a half ago when the world almost ended, I’m sure the suspense had everyone on edge. ‘Twas closer than Harold Camping’s almost forgotten Saturday, the May 21, 2011, end-of-the-world fiasco and a lot closer than his Oct. 21, 2011 mess.
Every Christmas Eve for the last three years, my husband has suited up with the elves of the Portage Lakes Kiwanis Club to deliver presents in the area. But his suit isn’t red, and he doesn’t get to touch the presents. As a law enforcement officer, his suit is gray, and it’s his job to make sure Santa stays safe.
As TV news issued more and more details, never have I ever imagined I could feel so badly about the loss of others, the majority of which were harmless children. If it ever happens to us, I pray I’m able to maintain an air of civility, but I honestly don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine the degree of numbness these families must be suffering from the senseless massacre that happened last week in Newtown, Conn.
Originally, this was supposed to be a piece about hope, faith and daring to dream big dreams. I wanted to talk about the “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” letter written more than a century ago and how the magic of the season doesn’t live only in one red-suited man, but in all of us.
I thought about scrapping the piece when the horrible incident occurred Dec. 14 in Newtown, Conn., in which a gunman killed 26 people, including 20 children. It didn’t seem such as a good time to discuss things like hope, faith and daring to dream big dreams when there seemed to no reason for them.
I wish I weren’t writing this. I dreaded writing this week and enlisted suggestions for column topics from friends because I was emotionally numb and procrastinated until far past my deadline.
So here I am, writing for the third time in less than two years about a mass murder committed by a lone gunman in the United States.
