I’m not sure when the transformation occurred, so it must have happened slowly. But a few weeks ago, when I went to Vegas to run in the Rock ‘n Roll Marathon, my friends decided I was an athlete. I’m not.
I’ve been a high school English teacher for so long that you’d think I had the letter writing gig down to a science. You know, finding ways to turn a lazy, obnoxious, entitled kid into a “witty future leader, brimming with possibilities.”
I’m kind of over the whole don’t look at a rainbow thing. In fact, I have trouble believing that God would give us something so beautiful and awe inspiring in order for us to look away.
Somewhere between closing the metaphorical door of any traumatic situation and getting sucked into the constant vortex of pain and victimhood, there’s a middle place of relative contentment. Of just understanding that it is what it is.
The following originally appeared on HuffPost. To read it there, click here. So I ran a half-marathon a few months ago, and when you do something like that the first question people ask is, “So are you a runner now?”… Read More ›
As far as the Literary Mother of the Year awards go, Mrs. Weasley became a contender from the moment she helped Harry Potter get onto Platform 9 ¾ in the first book.
Facebook just shared some memories with me today. Not that I needed Facebook to tell me where I was two years ago and what my friends were tagging me in on their status updates that day.
We alone know that “grueling” reaches a whole new level when it is associated with a ten-hour surgery to extract a brain tumor, and that “waiting,” a word usually associated with boredom, is in fact the most painful word in the English language.
You’ve been posting each one of these milestones at the same rate as runners post their Runtastic stats. You’ve filled my newsfeed with recipes involving Passover ingredients only available in Guam. And seriously? You need to stop.
This tumor with all its power to put him into a world of darkness – a world of black and white – cannot kill the colors in his soul. It cannot touch what Coby can still share with the world.