Buckeye Mike

Seven years ago today, I wrote a post entitled "The Pocketwatch". It is a story about my mother, who was my best friend and is the inspiration for this blog.  It is my favorite Christmas story, and has become an annual tradition. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you. As a kid growing up, Christmas Eve was always the most special day of the year. Aside from the Santa visit, the day was filled with so much tradition and family that is was more like an event than a holiday. Everyone would gather at my grandparents house for Christmas dinner. Cars would fill the drive way, be parked on the hill, and even in the front yard. My Uncle Ronnie would read the Christams story.  And there was always a feast, with us kids pushing everyone to finish their plates so we could get to the presents. And there were  a lot  of presents. Whatever car mom was driving, from the Pacer to the Nova, would always be packed full by the end of the evening, and many years required a second tr

I'm a sap. If you have read this blog for very long, this is probably not news to you. After all, mosts of my posts contain come sort of story about my experiences in life, whether that story is the focus of my writing or anecdotal in the latest chapter. I have been told I have a story for everyting, and I love being known as that guy. After all, my Mom was a story teller. I get that from her. Not the only thing she passed to me though. She was a sap too. This time of the year is a little tough for me.  It was during this time, 8 years ago, that we spent our last days with my Mom. And while this by far has been the best Christmas season since that happened, what with Little Red getting on the transplant list and all, I still have my moments of sappiness, wishing she could be here now. One of those happened tonight Tiffany asked if we could go for a drive to look at Christmas lights. She hadn't been out all day as she wasn't feeling great, so I was happy to oblige. W

306-C West Johnstown Road, Gahanna, Ohio 43230. At 19 years old, I knew it all. I bought my first car for $150.00. I had quit college to save money so I coud marry a girl. And I had moved out of my parents house (after they told me I had too) to my very own apartment. It was my life. My freedom. My place. Well sort of. Rent was $525.00 a month. That was a lot. So I had to have a room mate. Well 3 actually. I had to share a room with my best friend Brad, while my crazy, gun nut, con artist other roomate shared the second bedroom with his girlfriend. It was not a good situation. Still, though, it was my first taste of adulthood. And while the girl dumped me and the car broke down (who knew a $150.00 car would not be reliable?) the memories of living in that place have stuck with me through the years. I remember one day in particular, as I was walking to work, I saw a man in the driveway of a home along the way. He was teaching his son, who could not have been more than 4 or 5, how