I must have been 5 or 6 years old when, fed up with my intolerable condition of having to do chores instead of being coddled and doted-upon nonstop, I told Mom, “I’m running away from home.”
Parents all over the world dream that their little tyke will grow up to be famous. They go to great ends to see that their tiny tot fulfills that dream – expensive higher educations, grueling music lessons, rigorous athletic training.
You can try to silence objectionable speech with bullets, as the Charlie Hebdo terrorists did recently, but there are quieter ways at work every day.
I laughed all the way to the bank the other day.
It is time once again to turn the page, to say goodnight to tired old 2014 and to welcome in 2015, a clean blank slate just waiting to be scrawled with a whole year’s worth of new mistakes and embarrassments.
Dear Tommy: I know you always wondered what would happen to your collections – those stamps and pennies you spent so much time with down in the damp basement as you organized them at that little beat-up oak roll-top desk with the black ring of fountain-pen ink you spilled on its top.
Sometimes a day doesn’t turn out the way you hoped it would.