Well, Monday I would be in the class and would get to the bottom of this. Anthony would no longer feel sick going to class. He would no longer plan escape routes home to avoid confrontation. He could actually learn something in class and feel good about himself. He would not have to keep everything a secret so people don’t either A) feel sorry for him, or B) try to help solve the problem and make it worse.

My job, is and always will be to take care of things. To make things better, to be the person who figures things out and finds a path from whatever darkness, into light and comfort.  My job is to hold my wife’s hand and stand up for her and tell her “Everything is going to be alright, I got this. As long as I am near and breathing, you don’t have to worry.”

She was my first real crush. Actually, she was the first crush that I knew was a crush while it was going on. I had a few crushes, that in hindsight were crushes, but this was a full on knee-weakening, voice-stammering, path home from school altering crush. I would not be able to pick Jenna out of a lineup today, probably not even the high school version. She would be hard to recognize without the soft backlighting, halo, and angelic chorus that followed her around Summerville high school.

Over the next 35 years or so, I had a love affair with the Big Mac. I was a constant, slow burning love born of comfort and trust. I would go a month or two without one, and sometimes have three in a week. I loved everything about them except one thing: The people who constructed a Big Mac did not have the respect for the design of this signature beauty.