Tag Jerome Parent

Patriot Fans Should Enjoy Their Success

As a Denver Bronco fan since 1965, I have a long dislike of the Boston/ New England Patriots. In the sixties, the Broncos were inept and quarterbacks like Boston’s Babe Parilli carved up the Denver defense like deli meat. So I was naturally glad to see Philadelphia eke out a win in Super Bowl LII. The enemy of my enemy and all of that. Usually, I root for the AFC

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Connection to a Killer

“STOP!” I looked at Jacob, his fist balled up and drawn back. His eyes almost glowed with an incomprehensible anger. He held my gaze and then slowly dropped his hand to his side. I breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. It was the closest I had ever come to having a student swing at me. I explained to him again what my expectations were for the enrichment class and pointed

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Home Schooling IS Child Abuse

People all over the country are appalled at the child abuse story that came out of California recently. David and Louise Turpin held thirteen children ages two to twenty-nine captive in their “good Christian home.” Their offspring were chained, malnourished and living in their own filth. Many people questioned how these children could have been homeschooled for so long without the government finding out what was going on. Most are

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My Father’s Son

It’s the first day of the New Year and I have survived. No, not because of a wild party or hangover. Those days are long behind me, thank goodness. But New Year’s Eve has mostly meant one thing for me: the anniversary of my father’s birth. This year, h e missed his eighty-ninth birthday by three months and a day. And I’m struggling with it, but not for the reasons

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A Painful Awakening

I was on my knees, forehead touching the floor in some perverted Islamic prayer stance. The echo of my scream still rang in my ears as I tried to catch my breath. I was dimly aware of my wife asking frantically what was wrong. I didn’t know how to answer and lacked the oxygen necessary to formulate a response. I felt her warm hand on my back as she patted

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Desert Snow

Charlie Peterson looked at his watch and then at the departure board of Phoenix’s Sky Harbor airport. Another 45 minutes, he thought as the Christmas Muzak and flight information droned over the loudspeaker. He adjusted his thick, wire-frame glasses and tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. He peeked at his wife. She was still angry. The laugh lines around her eyes had transformed into something severe. “Come on,

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