-
By 8:00 p.m. at the summer season’s first home meet, the stress is starting to wear on me. I’m running the timing system, which means I’m basically a one-man IT department responsible for verifying results and ensuring the meet runs on time. There are at least 300 people, probably closer to 400, crowded onto the
-
Easter weekend 2025 was a lesson delivered by the children in what we ought to consider “inappropriate.” It started on Thursday, the last day of school before break, when I was invited into Cartter’s classroom as the “mystery reader” for the week. I’d thought that Cartter might not want me to participate in this potentially
-
As the final pair painstakingly made its way around the last holes late Sunday at the Masters, the empty fairways were a sad sight. Not long before, they glistened with dew in the morning sunlight; players strode down their centers after blistering drives; and patrons stood scattered around their edges admiring the spectacle. Then, there
-
I’m starting to wonder if our next dog will sing along the way our lab Sammy does while I play the piano. I imagine trying to play her song without her, and I think keeping it a duet would help. Some things are better with a friend. While I worry about becoming a solo act,
-
Lately I’ve found myself talking very excitedly about my son’s swimming, mostly to my wife, but also to his friend’s father, my physical therapist, my parents, my coaching colleagues . . . basically, anyone to whom my son’s nascent swimming career is even remotely relevant is aware of his budding talent. “He’s doing that already?”
-
Over the years I’ve developed some rules for dealing with young kids at swim practice. One is, never ask a swimmer, “What are you doing?” The question is totally unproductive: it’s almost guaranteed to be uttered in anger and frustration, and the kid’s not going to have a good answer. Better to just go ahead
-
Sitting atop the roof at Folly Beach’s Catch 23, formerly Snapper Jack’s of bridal massacre fame, my college roommate Dan and I discussed the nature of unexpected joy, those fleeting moments in which the miraculousness of one’s existence is suddenly a palpable thing, when the light coming in the window or the thought of a
-
It was a Friday morning, and my day had gotten off to a late start. I stumbled still half-asleep into the living room, and the sound of Cartter’s heavy footsteps hustling from his bedroom in the back hallway roused me to alertness. “Scotty, guess what I found?” Scotty matched his older brother’s tone of enthusiasm
-
The morning of the kids’ last day off from school over Christmas break, I was roused at six a.m. by a moaning sound that mixed with the whir of the box fan in Danyelle’s and my bedroom. It was so constant and steady that I thought the spinning blades must have randomly achieved some resonant
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
The Raging Elitist 