Ralph Pullins

The boy walked across the field with his grandpa.  The old man carried a large dented gasoline can, the old timey kind, rounded on the top and probably older than the boy's dad.  The boy liked being around his grandpa, liked his silence and his tolerance of the boy's questions. The boy was quiet for the most part, studious, and curious and interested in learning, so his questions were never the inane kind, but usually of the how does that work, why do you do it that way, can you show me how variety which the old man appreciated and approved of.  The boy liked his time with the old man and he liked when one of his questions would make the old man pause and he could tell he had said something that had made his grandpa think about something in a new way or from a new angle.  He looked over to their destination, the storage shed, large and dark, filled with the smells he associated with summers out here, dust and grease.  There was something special about the air, the boy had dec

My high school class lost another member recently, an exceedingly nice guy that had apparently spent most of his life in service to others by way of being a first responder.  His name was Mike. In response to this, someone created a KHS class of '96 group on Facebook, and I joined when I was invited, because why not? People started posting pictures that they had dug out of various closets and photo albums.  Someone posted all the pictures of the senior class from the yearbook, and there I am, in a Minor Threat T-shirt that I happened to be wearing when they were taking pictures of all the kids that didn't get senior pictures.  I never got senior pictures.  They were expensive and we were relatively poor, but that wasn't the reason.  If I really wanted them, my mom would have found a way.  She found a way for pretty much anything we wanted or needed. I haven't posted any pictures, though I have commented a couple of times when I thought it okay. Here's the th