I keep wanting this blog to have a focus, but there are too many varied thoughts in my head. So I’m opening this blogging space up to myself, which is appropriate since I write as much for myself as for anyone. Actually, I write mostly for my daughter Mila so that she might find these posts someday and learn more about the ideas that excited me.
For those of you out there following along, I promise to, at least, mark my posts in relevant categories so that you can choose what to ignore.
Earlier in the week I learned of the death of Van Perdue at the age of 51, a man from my hometown, a guy I’ve not seen in decades. Yet, he appears in so many of my early childhood memories. We lived around the corner from each other. Our parents were friends. As the case in a small Tennessee town our families knew each other, and their parents and grandparents.
I have a young daughter approaching her fourth birthday, which has caused me to think a lot about myself at that young age. Over the past year those memories have been much in my mind. Of course, the memories are just fragments. And there has been Van in those memories of when my family lived on Lee Street. After we moved to the other side of town when I was in the 2nd grade I lost touch with him since he was a few years ahead of me in school. But he was my first friend and will always be there in my mind.