Birthdays. Anniversaries. They're generally happy events. Opportunities to create treasured memories with those we care about. But special dates can become prickly reminders when . . .
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I've been having problems with my tongue lately. Nothing physical or medical. More of a slippage issue. Foul language, which I abhor, occasionally comes rolling out from some murky cesspool in my subconscious.
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Influencer. It's a fairly recent coinage. Online references paint the picture of someone who wields the power to affect purchasing decisions because of their authority, knowledge, position, or simply because they've You-tubed their way into the hearts of a large number of followers. Those who exploit their public popularity in order to steer public opinion and shape political thought also figure in.
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“Man, what a voice!” The wide-eyed fourth-grade boy had blurted these words of praise to seventh-grade me after I’d belted out a hymn during a Sunday school assembly. Emboldened, I mustered the courage to start singing around the house. Big mistake.
My mother had been raised by a judgmental single parent and never quite grasped the concept that positive observations build children up while negative observations erode their self-assurance. As a child, she once asked her mother that little-girl question, Am I pretty? Mouth sternly set, eyebrow severely arched, my grandmother responded, Pretty is as pretty does. End of discussion.
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