Rich: The surprise of Stan

There sat three of us around the kitchen island in a suburban home outside Nashville, swapping stories. As often happens, one story led to another.Something that was said reminded me of an old friend.“I have a friend of more than 35 years,” I began. “He was one of Hollywood’s top stuntmen.

Rich: Happy birthday to this great land

Across the rippling creek and over a bridge with rusty rails, I followed Mama, who was carrying a warm chocolate cake.Like any four-year-old, I stopped at the center of the bridge, watching the lazy water bubble toward the Chattahoochee.“Little ‘un, c’mon,” Mama called over her shoulder.

Rich: Gavin

From the oven, I pulled a peach cobbler that bubbled and popped beautifully. Outside, spring had come calling to resurrect what winter had lulled to sleep. The trees and shrubs were a lovely green and nearly in full bloom.

Rich: No father on Father’s Day

There is a little boy, age 11, who will no doubt fall fitfully asleep on the eve of Father’s Day.Then, perhaps, he will awaken to a pillow wet with sadness. Many people will try valiantly to cheer him up.

Rich: Aunt Fairy

Every time we sing “Precious Memories” at church or at a funeral, I think of my daddy’s Aunt Fairy, who raised him.His daddy beat him. His mama left him. So without hesitation, Aunt Fairy and Uncle Oscar took him in and raised him on their farm in the shadows of the Appalachian Trail.

Rich: World War II heroes

Tink and I were at lunch recently with a friend who began talking about his grandfather’s bravery and the medals he earned during World War II.When the war began, his grandfather was initially deferred because he was in college. A few months later, he was drafted.

Rich: The thief

The email from my literary agent popped up. He is the wonderful man who first believed in me without having read a single line I had written.

Rich: Southern rules of dinner

Tink and I had a precious friend named Roy Hodnett. Roy, the kindest and most perfect Southern gentleman, had raised his family in Virginia with his pretty wife, Anne.Roy sold cookies for a living — at least, that’s the way he always phrased it.

Story: A mother’s story

It is a line that Tink and I quote often, always with a shake of the head. We will carry it to our graves.A dear friend of ours — a successful entertainer from a storied family — had a cruel mother who left her children to figure out food, school, and life for themselves.

Rich: It isn’t funny

It weighs on my heart, and it can be sobering.Are we losing our sense of humor? Over the past few years, something has shifted.Many of our comedian friends have stopped touring. One has even become a preacher.