I wanted archery. Instead, I ended up at the soccer station, running around orange cones and listening for the whistle. Coach smoked cigarettes between penalty kicks. He also showed up…
Author: John Morgan
John Morgan
Married for a bunch of years, John Morgan is the father of two school-age boys. He teaches creative writing and British literature at St. Catherine’s School. Other than words, he loves vintage drums, cars, and Ringo Starr’s backbeat.
All I wanted as a kid was some sort of vehicle that would move me up the highest hill in the neighborhood. I didn’t want to pedal, so I checked…
August in Richmond makes some people miserable. They complain about the humidity and the mosquitoes. Friday Cheers is long over. The tomato plants didn’t make it, thanks to the squirrels.…
I like those old Coleman magazine ads where the kids stand by the stream with fishing poles, reeling in trout; Mom kneels near the picnic basket, driving in tent stakes;…
On a special December Saturday in 1983, Dad woke up early to warm up the Toyota. By seven o’clock, my sister Susan and I were inside the car. Then, we…
The summer of 1986 meant riding my Schwinn Thrasher eight blocks to Lafayette Pharmacy where I cashed in my nickels for a bag of assorted Jolly Ranchers. The loot cost…
Three years ago, I drove to North Carolina, met a stranger through Craigslist, and brought home a Boston terrier puppy. That was the breed of our dog years ago, so…
Our 1972 Toyota Corona station wagon lived a tough life when I was a kid. From the factory, it came with an AM radio and no AC. How much fun…
Atticus, you need a sport.” “Is rock ‘n roll a sport?” We were having a bedtime conversation. But before I answered, I thought about Mick and Keith, who still throw…
Dad, I want to go to Diamonds Direct.” “Why?” “Because I need a crystal to make a lightsaber.” The engine of any Jedi’s sword is a special gemstone that bottles…
As a cadet at VMI, fall made me anxious. While others were tidying up the frat house or skipping that first-period seminar, I was sprinting back to barracks and diving…
When I was seven, a wizard came to our house after school one Wednesday. He messed with a few wires, and then handed me a remote control the size of…
