Saturday, April 10, 2021




My papa had a way of telling a story that all the children enjoyed. Some of my favorites were church stories. “When the Holy Ghost gets a hold of some people,” he would say, “strange and mysterious things happen.” 

Many times papa told the story about Aunt Maggie Lou Simmons.  There was a saying among the younger ladies of the church, “Hold my baby while I shout,” but Aunt Maggie Lou was older and all her children had grown up and married off. But it never failed every  summer during the revival, Aunt Maggie Lou would shout. In fact, most of the church members looked forward to the shouting time of this elderly lady. 

“As the revival continued,” Papa would say, “it would come time for Aunt Maggie Lou to get filled with the spirit. On Saturday night it happened.  While Brother Myers was in one of his spiritual moments, Aunt Maggie Lou jumped to the center of the aisle. When she landed, she flipped one leg high in the air and sent one shoe in a rainbow arch towards the pulpit. As soon as that shoe hit the floor, she flipped the other one in the same manner. 

Now Aunt Maggie Lou was a devout Christian, and she believed that a Christian lady should never cut her hair.  Her hair had been growing all her life, and the only way she could manage it was to braid it in pigtails, roll them up in a big bun, and pin the bun to the back of her head. 

When Aunt Maggie Lou hit the floor to shout, all the regular church members knew to cover up the babies faces, and protect their eyes with songbooks. When Aunt Maggie Lou was filled with the Holy Spirit, she performed what was known as the famous “head jerk.”  When she jerked her head and popped her neck, bobby pins would fly through the church like bullets.  Even the preacher knew to duck behind the pulpit.  Her long pigtails would fall down, and she would pop her hair as if it was a whip. 

It was evident that a supernatural power had taken over her body, because even though she was a lady in her seventies, she could go up in the air and stretch her legs like a professional hurdler.  She would come down on her toes, like a ballerina, and go into a series of back flips like a high school cheerleader. The congregation would sit in amazement as Aunt Maggie Lou shouted.” 

Papa told the story so many times that I remembered it just like it was yesterday, but one thing was for certain we never got tired of papa’s church stories. I later combined a series of his stories in a book entitled, “AND WE CALLED HIM BROTHER MYERS.”   



Thursday, April 8, 2021




I will never forget the story papa told us about a little girl who rode his school bus every day. He said they called her Little Missy, and it was well known around school that you did not mess her. Little Missy liked to fight. Her mother died when she was four year old and she has been raised by her father and five brothers. They said she had to be tough to survive living with her mean brothers. 

According to papa there was another very important family that rode his bus and they were the Miller’s. They owned a big, cotton, plantation and they were wealthy. They were not liked by most of the other kids because they were arrogant. They lived in a big house and flashed expensive jewelry. Their oldest daughter was an over-weight teenager that they all called Miss Nellie. 

On one cold afternoon when the bus stopped at the Millers, Miss Nellie came bouncing up the aisle and stepped on Little Missy’s toes. Little Missy jumped up and popped Miss Nellie up side her head. Miss Nellie ran home crying to her mother. Papa said that was the beginning of a family feud. 

Soon gossip spread though out the community that there was going to be showdown. Everybody was looking forward to the showdown because excitement was scarce in this rural community. After days of gossip it finally came to a head. 

One day the Miller’s did not show up for school. The gossip was that they were making plans for the showdown. Sure enough that afternoon when the bus reached the Miller bus stop three women were waiting: Miss Nellie, Mama Miller and the younger sister. When the driver stopped the bus the Miller’s called for Little Missy to step out. 

Little Missy did not hesitate. She made her way down the aisle, and, when she reached the bus door, she flew on to those three women like a bantam rooster in a dog fight. Papa had a way of describing the fight that made it seem real. The detailed description he said was engraved in his head and he would never forget it. 

Little Missy was fast and experienced in fighting.  First, she ripped open their blouses. She then made several lightening punches to their stomachs, followed with a few smacks to the face. 

She brought a fast knee-slam between the legs of Mama Miller, and when Mama bent over in pain, Little Missy landed an uppercut to her chin that put that three hundred pound woman in a spin. 

While Mama Miller was spinning, Little Missy went to work on Miss Nellie.  The younger Miller was in a panic. She was running around yelling, “Hit her, Mama. Hit her. She’s over here, Mama. No, she’s behind you, Mama.” 

About that time Little Missy put a head lock on the younger girl and slammed her into the fat belly of Miss Nellie. She bounced all over those big women who had fists flying, fat arms slinging, and not one them ever touched Little Missy. 

In a matter of minutes, Little Missy stepped back on the bus, wiped the dust from her hands, and motioned for the driver to drive on. The Millers looked like they had been attacked by the Tasmanian Devil. Their fancy hairdos were in shambles, and their clothes were torn. The ground looked like it had been pawed up by a bull. The Millers had been left with bare breasts, bruised eyes, and hurt prides. 

Papa said it was the best entertainment the kids had seen in along time. And they were all hanging out the windows shaming the Millers. Papa would laugh and say, “At our school or on our bus, there had never been a girl fight and that one was the center of conversations for a many days to come.” 

One day later, I wrote the story exactly like papa told it and published it in a book entitled “SHOW DOWN ON BUS ROUTE #3.” 




Tuesday, April 6, 2021




Some of my favorite childhood memories are the times when we would all sit around the fireplace on cold winter’s nights and listen to papa tell stories. It was the times before TV, radio, or telephone, and it was the only form of entertainment we had. Papa was not a very, good provider but he was a good entertainer. He loved to play the fiddle and make people laugh. The neighbors said that papa was a natural-born comedian. 

One of the favorite stories that I remember very well was about a nine year boy who was given the daytime job of looking after his grandmother. The boy’s father and mother had daytime jobs and he was left with the responsibility of caring for his elderly grandmother. The boy knew that his father was strict and if anything bad happened to his grandmother he would get a licking with his father’s leather belt. 

It so happened, one day when the boy was wheeling his grandmother out to the back porch, where she liked to sit and dip snuff, that his feet got all tangled up and he stumbled and fell. In the mist of his falling he accidentally pushed his grandmother and the wheelchair off the back porch. 

In the back yard was a mean billy goat. When his grandmother hit the ground the billy goat made a lunge for her. Suddenly, something happened that the boy later said looked like a miracle. In slow motion his grandma rose to the occasion. She sprang straight up in the air, clicked her heels together three times, and just gilded back up on the porch. The boy could not believe what he had seen, but he was scared to death of what his papa would do to him when his grandmother told him what had happened.  He quickly got the wheelchair back up on the porch, got it dusted off and got grandma settled down. 

Soon his father returned home from work. Lucky for the boy his grandmother was asleep. The way the boy was acting made his father suspicion that something had happened but he didn’t know what. Every time the father would start asking questions the boy would start singing. He would sing one of the songs his father played on the fiddle, Turkey in the Straw; She’ll be Comin’ Around the Mountain; Beautiful, Beautiful Brown Eyes. His father was pleased that his son could sing so well and that the boy remembered his favorite songs, but the father was confused.   

The boy’s luck continued because his grandmother slept all night in the wheel chair and by morning Alzheimer’s had kicked in and she had forgotten all about the billy goat incidence. The boy was happy that he had escaped the leather belt whipping.  Later on some of the older siblings named the story, “Grandma and the Billy Goat.”



Sunday, April 4, 2021




Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a grandpa and sit in your favorite rocking chair, on the front porch of your home, and cradle your grandson in your lap and tell him a story? It is a story about a lady whose voice was sweeter than the song birds. A woman who could play the church piano so good that it would make the old time Holy Rollers want to stand up and shout. But that same lady could bake an apple pie, darn a sock, sew a patch on a pair of trousers, and decorate a Christmas tree that would make your heart glow. That lady was his grandmother. 

It warms my heart to sit back and listen to my friends tell the story. I am pleased and amazed concerning the details that individuals remember about the story. THE MAMA MILLER LOVE STORY brings back memories to those who have read it, and they are memories worth retelling. 

A book can take you on an adventure like nothing you have ever experienced. It can also be one of the less expensive adventures you’ll ever encounter. People spend money on cigarettes, coke-a-cola, candy bars, and even in slot machines, and never give one serious thought about it.  But yet, they act like to spend money on a book would bankrupt them. 

A book can offer valuable moments of pleasure that takes the reader away from the hustle and bustle of daily living into a quiet place of peaceful rest. A book can provide knowledge never before experienced, and tell things about people you will never meet.    

Then the question is asked, why don’t you do yourself a favor and read the book THE MAMA MILLER LOVE STORY and enjoy the same pleasures that a grandpa shared with his grandson? 

It has been said that humans will never get tired of a good love story.  Love is a beautiful thing. It is an emotion that is hard to describe but the results are tangible.  Love comes in many forms such as the love between a mother and a child, a brother and a sister, or a neighbor respecting a neighbor.  But the most talked about form of love is that between a man and a woman. 

Some men are destined to love only one woman. A man falls in love with his high school sweetheart, and they are married and live happy ever after. This is a love affair that many believe is conceived in heaven and will continue throughout eternity. 

THE MAMA MILLER LOVE STORY is a classic story of the love between one man and one woman. The expectation of love is many years of peace and happiness, but sometimes those expectations prove to be wrong. Falling in love means the willingness to accept the consequences. It is true that sometimes love hurts, but for many the endurance of the pain is worth the benefits.  

Marriage vows should be taken seriously. However, many love affairs go wrong because the eternal flame of love was not there in the first place.  But when the flame burns out adjustments must be made.  In others the flame is there but the deck of cards that is called “life” deals a bad hand. 

The language of love is universal and it comes in the form of thousands of songs that have been sung, hundreds of poems that have been penned, thousands of books that have been written, plus hundreds of movies that have been made.  But there is one thing for certain humans will never get tired of a good love story.    

Thursday, April 1, 2021




The United States is at the threshold of returning to the greatest nation on the planet. All that needs to be done is for the majority of American citizens to break the chains of social injustice and enjoy the great world of diversity. There is a wonderful world waiting just outside the reach of many but the wait can only be fulfilled with willing participants. It is so easy to become involved in this wide, wide, world of diversity. It is both interesting and informative to be caught up in a societal mixture of shared interests. 

Hey, you want to borrow a cup of sugar, well I’ve got it for you. You want a cutting from my Sweet William flower plant; it’s yours for the asking. Neighbors helping neighbor’s make up the great world that surrounds us and all we have to do is accept it. It is possible that Grandma African American has a recipe for chicken and dumplings that is better than anything you have ever tasted.  Grandma Latino may have a recipe for fried chicken that is better than anything the Colonel ever dared to think about. Oh yea! And Sister Southeast Asia can bake a chocolate pie better than the Blue Ribbon one of Miss Southern Louisiana. But Miss Cajun Louisiana can stir up a pot of seafood jumbo that will make the taste buds of any human jump for joy. It is a great privilege just to be absorbed in this mixing pot of the world.   

All of this reminds me of the day when I kicked open the door of my homosexual closet and let the rays of the sun pour into my soul. Now, I don’t have to worry about what people think. I am no longer afraid of the truth because I am a free man. Don’t even try to hold me back; don’t even try to stop me, because I’m gonna shout it from the roof tops, yell it from the highest mountain, and holler it from the lowest valley. I have had a taste of freedom and now I know that is the greatest taste I have ever encountered and there will never be a going back.  You too can climb from behind the world of the closet and be free. You can accept the diverse world and join in the pursuit of happiness. Humans do have choices, you know.  

Just to think we are within a handshake of a world where humans can learn to get along with each other. To know that there is a world where weapons are not needed is a truth that should be spoken.  We are within an arm’s length of a world of happiness that is filled with “unspeakable joy” and all we have to do is reach out and grab it and once we have it, never let it go.