Columns

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9814-7/5/18

Alex Trebek had barely gotten two Double Jeopardy clues out of his mouth before the hall door creaked open revealing a large pair of blue eyes and hints of yellow hair.

 

“What is it Jesse?” I asked, prompting our lanky yellow-haired hypochondriac/philosopher/scholar/biblical historian to droop his head and say, “Daddy, I sinned.”

 

“What on earth?” I said. “How did you sin?”

 

“I had a thought.”

By: Padre Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9814-7/5/18

Hace poco tuve la alegría de asistir a la graduación universitaria de mi sobrino en Yankee Stadium. Después de cuatro años de estudios rigurosos en New York University, estoy orgulloso de sus éxitos y anticipo sus logros futuros. Quedé intrigado al saber que el primer ministro canadiense Justin Trudeau dirigiría unas palabras a los graduados durante la ceremonia. Este político aclamado fue recibido por los presentes con fuertes aplausos mientras caminaba hacia a una carpa sobre la tercera base del estadio.

 

By: Rachel Balducci
Originally Appeared in : 9813-6/21/18

It was not the greatest morning ever. I had not slept well; it was overcast; and I had something looming on the calendar I wasn’t too excited about. And those were just the issues right in front of my face. 

 

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9813-6/21/18

Magan’s once-a-month ventures across the street to our neighbor’s hairdressing hut leads not only to a fresh look for my bride but also an unrequested update on the goings-on in and around our neighborhood. This usually includes (but is not limited to): crime reports, neighbor interactions and generalized gossip.

 

By: Father Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9813-6/21/18

“Have you heard the good news?” cried out a well-dressed young man on the corner of Main Street and Coffee Street. His youthful appearance revealed a hint of anxiety as he stood alone on a Friday night announcing these words loudly with conviction. He held a stack of pamphlets n his right hand. “Have you heard the good news?” exclaimed the young man once again as I approached the metal steps behind him which led down to a coffee shop called Coffee Underground.

 

By: Father Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9812-6/7/18

When I was 7 or 8 years old, my mother told me the story about a mother who while pregnant became ill with cancer. The woman had to make a very difficult decision: receive treatment and risk the wellbeing of the child, or wait until the child was born to be treated. The heroic woman of my mother’s story chose to wait. Six months after the birth of her daughter, the mother died.

 

By: Rachel Swenson Balducci
Originally Appeared in : 9812-6/7/18

If you’ve ever trained a child to drive, you have experienced true terror. You too know the feeling of absolute fear and trembling as you careen down the highway at overwhelming speed. 

 

I don’t care if you’re actually on a country backroad going right around 35, by the way. Something about teaching your own flesh and blood to finagle a motorized vehicle makes life feel like a scene from "Speed," starring you-the-mom in the role of Sandra Bullock.

 

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9812-6/7/18

No three words elicit more joy in the hearts of homeschooling families than: Used. Book. Sale.

 

By: Padre Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9812-6/7/18

Cuando tenía más o menos unos siete años, mi mamá me contó la historia sobre una señora que fue diagnosticada con cáncer durante su embarazo. Esta mujer tuvo que tomar una decisión muy difícil: recibir un tratamiento que afectaría el bienestar del bebe o esperar hasta después del parto para recibir el tratamiento necesario. Esta mujer heroica de la cual contaba mi mamá optó por esperar. Seis meses después del nacimiento de su hija, la señora murió.

 

By: Moises Sandoval (CNS)
Originally Appeared in : 9811-5/24/18

I grew up during the Great Depression of the 1930s in a home without electricity, radio, TV, any kind of telephone, much less a smart one. We received no newspapers, magazines or even what today we call junk mail. We had only a handful of books.

 

Lacking a car or truck, we could not even get to church on a regular basis, though it was just seven miles away. We lived in an insular world of small farms in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

 

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