The Sabre

Ever since I can remember, my dad stored a military sabre at the back of his closet, a relic from a bygone era. Dad attended Marist College High School in Atlanta, Georgia, in what was then an all-boys military academy. He graduated in 1958, the Adjutant of the Battalion at his school.

I doubt Dad ever imagined that his sabre would see the light of day again. He kept it for sentimental reasons. And because it’s hard to donate a weapon to Goodwill.

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Carry My Shoes, Love?

My brother Dennis called me from the airport the other day. He was traveling to Atlanta for a weekend of golf with a high school buddy.

He was checking in on me and Baby Ocho. I updated him on the latest concerns regarding the baby’s breech presentation and the potential duodenal obstruction. Dennis responded with a strange comment, “It’s like shoes on the golf bag. Just pile it on.” He told me a story to illustrate his point.

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