I wrote this essay to express the depth of gratitude I feel for my alma mater creating a course of study for something so new that there was no degree plan, and the decade or so I lived and learned in Little D. 

“A woman I had never met knocked on my front door. She gave me the name of a young bass player and asked if I knew where he was. I did. He happened to be taking a nap in my spare bedroom.

That moment would prove to be the fateful coincidence completing the long arc of my tertiary education”

Image courtesy University of North Texas.

This essay/memoir is about the memories my sister’s painting evoked. To see “Beginnings” and more of her work, visit https://www.juliewileman.com/

Many of Julie Wileman’s works are for sale (hint hint), and she sometimes takes commissions.

“One of my comrades says something about how times like this make our efforts and separation from loved ones worth it. Transfixed, I can only nod in agreement.”

A longing thirty years on from the death of my father. Photo by Gloria Smith.

“I am looking at a photograph of my dad taken around 1991, give or take three years. He would have been in his late 60’s, maybe 70 years old. There wasn’t much after that. Pancreatic cancer got him and killed him quick a few months after his 71st birthday. He died in February of 1994.”

People ask: why do you go by the name Scooter? I mean, you’re an old man, not a dog or Barbie’s younger sister’s friend!

Photo of my baby self most likely by (Uncle) Jerry Martin.

Being nice is underrated as a virtue. Yet, offering kindness to everyone often gives the comfort and strength that helps someone make it through the day.

My wife, Amy, and I decided to convert some heavily wooded and creek-cut acreage into an ecological haven of renewed tallgrass prairie and protected species habitat. Serious about our goals, we took classes from the Texas A&M AgriLife Extension Service. We learned about Blackland prairie botany and biology, erosion control, and best practices for farm and woodland management. And feral pigs. Drawing at left from a 1921 Collier’s via Wikicommons, artist unknown.

I wrote this essay/memoir in mid-2019 as a reaction to the shaming and derision Joe Biden was receiving for caring enough about people to love them; to hug them. The photo of my father was taken by an unnamed friend of his in Sasebo, Japan, 1945.

“My father chose to be a hugger, but behavioral norms change. Today, our culture is flirting with the idea that people who hug others, regardless of intent, should suffer societal censure. While there are justifications for this, I sense a net loss for humanity.”