Dear Daniel: By the time you read this, your graduation ceremony will be over. You and 500 or so of your friends have reached the first big intersection on that road we call life. Congratulations. As I watched you sit at the Ford Center last Thursday, I couldn’t help but remember your childhood. Granted, you are not my son, but instead, you’re the son of my closest friend. And, therefore, you are family. You were only 3 months old with I met your father. We both went to work for the Oklahoma Legislature and both found ourselves stuffed into this tiny office with no windows and very little space. Your dad had been there, maybe two days, at the most, when he told me he was going to be taking several weeks off. I wasn’t too happy about that. I’d started a week before he did and I didn’t understand why he was so special. I remember cussing him and pretty much acting like schmuck. Later, when he returned, he told me how his newborn son had to have heart surgery and that’s why he wasn’t at ...
A blog dedicated to good writing and journalism as a career. Inspired by the poetry of Paul Lawrence Dunbar. Consider this that small, funky coffee shop at the corner of Main and Cyberspace. All stories are written by M. Scott Carter, chief political reporter for The Oklahoman. Your comments are welcomed, but only if you're willing to include your name, we don't do anonymous. My name's on every story, you want to play in the big leagues? Post yours, too.