Rich: A childhood without books

Please forgive me if you’ve heard this story on the page or in person. I tend to tell it two or three times a year.Because I cannot get my head around such nonsense.People often approach me, wanting to write a book. Only twice in 20 years has anyone ever inquired about writing a newspaper column.

Rich: With their shoes on

Make no doubt about it: I was raised in a household of two of the most righteous people who ever lived.Both were mountain people who never gave a moment’s thought to looking back at the mountain poverty they had escaped. Both came down, out of the hills, and built a better life for themselves.

Rich: With their shoes on

It was the summer of my 12th year of life. I remember that clearly because I was in that awkward stage of having too many freckles, too many pounds, and long, wavy hair.All my life, I had heard talk of the first mountain church that had called Daddy as their Pastor: Mill Creek Baptist.

Rich: The privilege of being a homemaker

A member of our extended family went to be with the Lord not long ago. It was an unexpected but expected death, long in coming and full of pain and torture.For me, it is Tennessee Williams who usually comes to mind when death calls.

Rich: It hurt not to be remembered

Over the next few days and nights after the disturbing discovery, my main question was, “Why does it even matter to me?”I didn’t lose sleep over it—it’s almost impossible to lose sleep with as little as I get.

Rich: The folks who are proud of you

About a year ago, Tink and I were visiting our friends, Don and Debbie Reid in Staunton, Virginia.In their living with the over-stuffed chairs and sofa, the four of us had settled into a long, easy conversation. The kind you have with people who are your kind. Don’s phone beeped with a text.

Rich: Trusting your gut

It’s one of life’s hardest lessons to learn and then, just as hard to make it stick: Trusting an unseeable force – intuition.Daddy preached it.“Stick to your gut. It’ll never fail you.

Rich: Who are the good ole boys?

Someone – a non-Southerner – asked me the other day, “What is a good ole boy?”I’m happy to answer that question. Let me tell you about the South’s good ole boys: First of all, you will probably see him at every Friday night home football game.

Rich: The tears that wouldn’t fall

Massive tears pooled in my eyes, but, amazingly, for 15 minutes, they did not fall.They were stoic.Just like my friend, John Jarrard.Sitting at a table in a sequined dress for a black-tie event, I watched the video that honored that wonderful man.

Rich: Celebrating good folks, especially fathers

A friend of mine and I were talking once about a crook we both know. As my Daddy would say, “He wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him between the eyes.”The stories about this crook are endless. It seems like almost everyone has a story about a lie, an illegal transaction, or some such.