This is not a bill. This is also not an airplane or a cupcake.
This is an explanation of benefits (EOB) from your health insurance company (HIC) concerning the services that were provided by your health care provider (YHCP) on or about two weeks ago from last Thursday (LTH) at about 3:30 p.m. or maybe a little later if it’s that important to you.
As sure as the stars and stripes, our nation’s Independence Day approaches and so it’s time for my annual column about being an American.
Rose Sandler wants to gallop in the footsteps of a conqueror.
Centuries before Pony Express riders thundered across the untamed American West, Genghis Khan established a long-distance postal system using horse messengers in the Mongol steppe.
There are, of course, two kinds of people in the world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people and those who don’t.
A baccarat crystal knob seems an unlikely nemesis.
But that changes when your hands are fused into permanent fists.
Megan Barron realized too late – about the time the stall door clicked shut – that she couldn’t manipulate the knob. She was in a fancy restaurant in Washington, D.C., with her father and brother. Her smartphone? Still at the table.
“Sometimes, you just have to crawl yourself under a stall door,” she said during an interview on Wednesday. “No harm, no foul.”
It was a beautiful, warm, gloriously sunny late spring day.
What is fatherhood?
Fatherhood is standing in public holding a miniature Dora the Explorer backpack and acting like it’s no big deal, because it isn’t. As a father, you hold your kids’ stuff, whether it’s Dora or princesses or Iron Man. And you play with them, too.
The first time Mom introduced us to him, he likes to joke, “she claimed you were circus dwarves.”
Not too long after that, Tom Berger became stepfather to me and my brother, Don.
I don’t know if he was ready to be a father. I certainly wasn’t ready to be a stepson.
This past Thursday, my wife and I celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary, which is, technically, impossible, since I’m pretty sure I’m only about 43 years old.
Last Saturday, I was at a baseball game at 10 a.m., and at a baseball game at 10 p.m. It was a great day.
In the morning, I sat in a folding chair under the hot sun watching my son’s T-ball team, named for a kind of shark, enjoy America’s pastime.
In the evening, my almost-done-with-kindergarten kid sat next to me at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park.
I was walking down Club Boulevard in front of the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics, pushing John Michael in the jogging stroller.
As she leaves for work every morning, my wife recites a mnemonic device that helps remind her that she is leaving for work.
Carolyn Hemingway. Antonio Dixon. Those who perished at Dachau during the Holocaust. Those that gave their lives for their country during war. Within less than two weeks, I covered four assignments that each had the same purpose – to remember those who were killed. One was a funeral. One was a national holiday. Two were vigils. Each of the four events were held on sunny days. Each of the four events remembered those who died not in peace, but by violence. Each of the four was emotional for those who were connected to those who died.
I couldn’t blame it on a bad pass, wet turf, sloppy handling or referee incompetence.
No, back in the 1970s, my sport was spelling.
When I failed, I only had myself to blame.
Let me reiterate and make this perfectly clear: I have no intention, currently, at this moment, as of early this morning, right now, of running for president in 2016.
However, as I state in my currently available new book, “Running for President in 2016,” circumstances can change.