The Christmas I was nine remains a fond memory, not because of what I got, but because of what I almost did not. Always, always, my father reminded us, “Just before Christmas, we’re as good as we can be!”
Oh, I believed. I believed I was being as good as I could be. I believed I was to be rewarded with the bicycle of my own, I believed. Well, actually, I believed I was as good as I could be when anyone was watching. I didn’t really allude myself to believe I was actually being as good as I could be. But, I spent a great deal of time and put forth a significant
Friday, December 22, 2006
Not a Christmas story, but timely, nonetheless -- jcarolek
My son was an early reader. When he began kindergarten he was already reading and he read Treasure Island, the full version, when he was six. Smart kid, to be sure. So you can understand my dilemma when he seemed completely lost in the simple telling of time. I don’t know whether the other little tykes were as confused as mine, but his teacher reported this as an area where he could benefit from some extra help (at home, you know, Mom, get off your duff and teach
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