Boy, I loathe that sense of entitlement. I hate it when other people develop a sense of entitlement. I remember as a young undergraduate making the mistake of calling one of my professors by the first name. (Let’s call him John.)
“Hi, John?” I said. “I have a question.”
Dr. John “Smartipants” Smith removed his glasses from his exceptionally long nose, placed them on the podium, closed his eyes with a deep sigh, and said, “The name is Doctor Smith.”
I almost laughed. (I had enough sense to restrain myself.)
At the time I knew I would never be one of those professors who felt entitled to have everyone bow down to my intellect and call me Dr. Fife.
And then I got my PhD. Read more »
Sharon Savage. What a woman.
Twenty-five years ago, the diagnosis came.
“Cancer,” the doctor said.
“How long?” Sharon asked.
“Six, maybe eight months.”
Her reaction was…unusual. Aside from the shock, the anger, the grief, she felt something else–resolve. Read more »
I really wish I was better. I watch certain people who serve others joyfully–always volunteering to help somebody move, or feed the homeless, or open their home to the unloved.
I’m not one of those. I want to be. I try to be. Perhaps it’s my native introversion, but I’d just rather stay at home with the family.
Yet as I try, I can’t help but think about Jim… Read more »