Author: Tim Walker

Resolving to Endure

I ran a 5k once. Once is the operative word. I might do it again some day when the faint smell of impending death finally leaves my nostrils. The race was fine, it was the runner who had a problem. I had always wanted to do it and wondered if I could. So when I turned 40, a friend of mine said he would run it with me. His company put on an annual 5K as a fundraiser for a local charity, and he had done it before. So with the promise of a running buddy, I signed up....

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How to Embrace Mystery

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Joe Hardy from The Hardy Boys. Well, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to be Shaun Cassidy portraying Joe Hardy. There’s an awkward photo of me in a jacket with the sleeves pulled up, shorts and high white socks to prove it. I’m not going to post it on here, I know how social media works. But I also loved the Hardy Boy books. I would scrape together my allowance to buy the next copy and then devour the book. My collection wasn’t extensive, but I treasured the ones I did have. I still have...

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You Should Forgive Your Kids

“I sorry.” When those words are delivered by the high-pitched voice of a child, they melt you. Of course I’ll forgive you, you think. How could I not? Even if there is a huge mess behind her. Bookcases are knocked over. The dog is barking. The cat is perched on top of the chandelier. A team of people are unrolling “condemned tape” across your house. But when you hear “I sorry” and see those big brown eyes, the anger and frustration lessen a little bit. Sure, they may be staring at a corner for a while or be contained...

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Welcome to the Next Phase

A few weeks ago, I went with my oldest son to his freshman orientation at a local university. We started out the day in two separate check-in lines—one for parents, the other for students. Then we sat in a large auditorium together, getting some basic information for two hours. After that, my son split off into a group, and I didn’t see him again until the end of the day. As I went through the day, I was able to get the answers to some basic questions I needed—primarily financial. I got a free t-shirt. Lots of information. Some...

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Home on The Range

My mom was mischievous. One of her go-to ways to pick at my brother and me was to start singing. Off-key. Loudly. This especially annoyed me because I loved to sing. Her warbling was violating something sacred to me—but it was always kind of funny too. She always sang the same song, “Home on the Range.” Every note was broken and as far from one another on a musical scale as you could possibly get. She really liked to play up her inability to sing by making it sound as bad as possible and LOUD. It’s probably why the...

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