adolescent

As this is somewhat of an intensely private day for the friends and family of Stewman, I wish to tell you that even in Stew’s passing, he played his last joke. I like to think he’s sitting on a cloud somewhere with a mic in front of him laughing his fool head off.

Once upon a time, before I had my license, my daddy would pick me up after school sometimes. Since, in some ways, our personalities are near-identical, some days we'd sit the entire 15 minutes home in complete silence. Some days, though, he'd humor my blossoming adolescent mind and listen to some half-cocked theory I'd developed about the universe that very day.

When we rolled up on Mercy Lounge last night at almost 10 p.m., we figured things would be well underway, and even had cash ready to pay for parking. But it looked like about only 20 cars were there, and the second $3 lot was still gated.

Like so many other people around the world, I am visiting my family for the holidays.  They live in a tiny little mountain town in north Georgia.  I actually grew up in Atlanta, but we moved farther north at the end of my 7th grade year (what an awful time for any kind of life transition!  Junior High years are hard enough as it is!)