The other day, I was backing up in a parking lot and saw a woman walking in the direction of my car. I kept going, figuring she would stop, but she didn’t. In fact, she gave me the stinky face in my rearview mirror as I put on my brakes and waited for her to pass.
About once a week, I get the same question about my writing: “Where do you find the time to do it so much?” I can tell you this: it ain’t easy.
I once knew this guy who regularly started conversations like this: “Have you got a minute? I need your prayers.” Except there was never any prayer involved – it was just a religious intro to gossip.
When I was single, I was terrified I would never marry. But I was equally terrified I might marry the wrong person. If I married the wrong woman, I thought, I might end up with a wife who was subject to hormonal surges, occasional mood swings, weight fluctuations, bad habits, and bouts of irritability. She might not share all my interests or always get my humor. She might not like my music or always want to have sex. She might, you know – like, be human. And quite frankly, I wasn’t looking for a human; because so many of the humans I knew could…
Five years ago, I was at a wedding rehearsal dinner and I was seated next to Lula Rawls, a quiet, elderly woman who had been married for over sixty years. She was the grandmother of the groom; and in light of all the hopefulness surrounding the young couple’s nuptials, I wondered what wisdom she had to offer.
My wife will be embarrassed that I shared this with the general public, but at my old gym, I called myself “the Mayor.” My fellow gym members were okay with me having the title though. I earned it. I worked the room every day, making friends with almost everyone there. But at my new gym, the days of friendliness are over, and it’s not because I’m less friendly. It’s because everyone wears earphones now.
After seven years of marriage, I’m still smitten by my wife. She’s everything I ever wanted in a woman – she’s smart, spiritual, attractive, funny, adventurous, and loves to sing. There is, however, one attribute I wanted in a woman that she does not have, and she will readily admit it: she does not like to scratch my back.
I’ll be frank: when my mom first shared her zany idea for my wedding rehearsal dinner, I had my doubts. She had this idea that since I’m a lawyer, she would go with a courtroom theme. She would play the judge, and my fiancee and I would have to call “witnesses” to prove that we really should get married. You can imagine how weird and awkward this could have gotten, but it didn’t.
Back in college, I struggled to maintain healthy, close relationships. I was eaten alive with insecurity, which made it hard to have friendships without operating on a relational barter system that left people feeling used.
Last night, I was having a conversation with my neighbor, and all of a sudden, I panicked. I couldn’t understand him, and I didn’t have the guts to tell him that he wasn’t making any sense. I politely smiled and pretended I was following him, but I was lost and wanted to wrap up things without me looking stupid. The problem was, we were speaking Spanish; and he didn’t realize it, but he was talking over my head.
I think one of the most valuable messages a kid can hear is “no,” followed by an explanation (if the parent has time). Plenty of kids grow up with yes-men as parents, and after the child grows up and enters the adult world, it’s a confusing existence. Their parents dropped the ball in refusing to set up boundaries, so the adult child has to be schooled by circumstances, consequences, and people.
When I was ten years old, my family and I did something that was rare for us: we went on vacation. During that weeklong trip, someone gave me a gift; and believe it or not, I’m still holding onto it today. I’ll never let it go.
The other day, my three-year-old daughter was holding her baby doll and shushing it, using the same little rhythm over and over again. I didn’t notice it at first, but then it hit me – it was the tune of “Jingle Bells.” No way, I thought.
Recently, I was headed down Connecticut Avenue in the morning while it was still dark. There are several pedestrian crosswalks on that street that nobody uses at 5:20 a.m., so I was understandably surprised when I saw an old man standing in the middle of the street waving at me and yelling.
Christmas of 2002 was rough for me. I was in law school, and unlike many other students, I had taken out the absolute minimum amount of loans to avoid years of indebtedness after graduation. I was eventually grateful for that, but in the middle of my second semester, I was literally pulling together change to pay for groceries.
Joshua Rogers 