Sunday Afternoon Stories

It’s that time of the year once again. The time when we force our youngsters to wear caps and gowns, make them march in one last line and regale them with sage advice on life after high school. Several years ago, I was honored to be invited to give the commencement address at Moriarty High School. At the time, I had lamented in my newspaper column that no one would invite me to speak, and then someone did. That meant I had to come up with something, and I only had a year to write it. Actually, I had written what I spoke about years before and I repeated the column every year, adding what I had thought about in the intervening year. Here is what it takes to find success, no matter how you define it (for those who care, you can see the speech here , I'm at the 1:18 mark): Take care of your teeth. Always pee before you leave. Make sure you know where your keys are before you lock a door. Give the benefit of the doubt. Call out liars on their lies, but let little white lies s...

I knew the place. Of course I did, I’d been here many times before. An obstacle in the journey, it was as familiar as the armory where I watched Adam die. I knew it as well as the house where the mannequins live, as familiar as the mountain pass fraught with exhaustion and danger. I know them all, they are part of me. All are obstacles, none ever conquered. The canyon spread out before me, a knife a mile wide cutting through two mesas that was once only one mesa millions of years ago. I can never go around, not for lack of trying but just as a basic knowledge. My path was clear, always down to the bottom on a path that should be worn with use, but is always perilous. It seems like I should be able to fly. I know I’ve made it out of this canyon before, but here I am again, looking down and to the left – always to the left. One would think that I would try and find a path to the right at least once. Maybe next time. Making your way to the bottom of a canyon three hundred...