Gordon Keith and Sharon Grigsby: When Mother’s Day breaks your heart
Sharon Grigsby and Gordon Keith (pictured above with his mother) share poignant thoughts about their moms and mortality.
Sharon Grigsby and Gordon Keith (pictured above with his mother) share poignant thoughts about their moms and mortality.
Mother’s Day is a chance to remember the painful paths of mothers and their sons — and treasures along the way.
When a white Baptist preacher shows up in front of television cameras claiming to be the pastor of a Liberian woman who is at the center of our nation’s attention, eyebrows raise.
Is it wise to look through ancient yearbooks of people you don’t know, trying to piece together the kind of stories you once ignored? I don’t know. I just know it is a sadness I can’t quit touching.
We like to say, “I got spanked but I turned out OK.” Maybe there’s a way to turn out better than OK.
Let fate pose some of its cruelest tests — no tragedy can deter Don and Ellen Winspear’s love.
There’s a funny nostalgia game we play called “Can You Believe We Used to Do That?” You win by thrilling at things through cultural hindsight. Smoking in hospital waiting rooms. Sleeping on the back dash during family car trips. Listening to Meat Loaf. But the childhood danger that scares me the most is the one that should.
You wouldn’t abide a thief breaking in and taking your stuff, but you’ll let needy friends, infuriating enemies and total strangers steal your time and focus.
On Memorial Days, my life often feels like a dividend that someone else earned.
More interesting than the definition of home is the importance we place on it — especially in Texas.
It took the humanity of a fictional Indiana Jones to pull me from the youthful vulnerability of a pivotal summer.
Gordon Keith says he can aim higher than joking acceptance of his body. The truth is, he says, I’ve battled body shame my whole life. That battle shaped me. In boyhood, I was always one dessert shy of pudgy.
Throwing a flag for use of this profanity smacks of grandstanding and over-reaction, but it’s still the right thing to do.
The divorcées I know all express a feeling of failure that the marriage ended. Why? Because of the trappings of a fairytale we refuse to pick apart.
We require two things from media: the epiphanies of good stories and the catharsis of gotcha ones.
Understanding the hunter’s compassion is one of the greatest things animal advocates can do for improving the survival of game species, Gordon Keith writes.
Remember that Christmas presents are much more than material gestures — they are transactions of the heart.
Heroes are highly overrated. The people who count the most are the same ones who are most easily overlooked.
We’re all better off if we keep an open mind about haunted people and things.
We shouldn’t trust our government to keep its hands out of our digital pants.
If the idea is promoting charity, clarity and community while exploring wonder, I like what they’re peddling.
It may be tempting to stitch the death of state Sen. Wendy Davis into her political controversies, but it's gratuitous and unjust. She is a daughter who has forever lost her father.
Columnist debates pulling out of his commuter rut for a 30th-anniversary adventure in mass transit.
The lessons we learn in his death are as important as the ones we studied during the DJ’s oversized life.
This weekend and every weekend after until the cold sobers us up, we’ll be out on our lakes with our plastic cups and leaking coolers chasing good times and navigating poor decisions.
False fear may be a thrill, but we all could use some training for real fear, the kind that makes life meaningful.
Those small words of “I love you” have paralyzed a lot of mouths and left many relationships in inertia — and heartbreak.
It’s OK that no one heeds commencement speech advice. True wisdom is gained fresh — one experience at a time.
Yesteryear's neighborhoods, where people watch after one another, still exist. Let's hope the tornado-ripped area of Granbury is one of them.
Whether it’s Cowboys picking Facial Rapunzel or my own facial-hair journey, whiskers are complicated emblems of manhood.
We’ve convinced ourselves we’re far from Boston-sized attacks, and then a nearby small town suffers its own horrific loss.
The city’s plan to eradicate pests reflects the conflicting truths we all juggle in avoiding realities of the modern world.
Makeovers reveal much about what we believe about ourselves — let’s hope we get it right rebuilding the State Fair icon.
Parade’s just-released “What People Earn” report exposes our jealous fascination with the money status of others.
First Baptist Dallas Pastor Robert Jeffress implied that Tim Tebow is a wimp for not standing up for God's truth.
Posturing against celebration may suit you, but there’s something very important about a day dedicated to love’s mystery.
Maybe cities make their own luck: New Orleans is relaxed, embracing its past; Dallas is too eager to be new.
I hate to agree with the irrational knee-jerkers of Twitter, but Brent Musburger’s offense was worse than Savannah Guthrie’s.
My only visit was an unstable night of hobnobbing with the bigwigs at “The Eighth Wonder of the Central Business District.”
Turns out there’s another day -- despite what that Mayan calendar claimed.
The buzz over the auction of an infamous apartment’s bathtub disregards a couple of moments of very simple, sad human history.
The buzz over the auction of an infamous apartment’s bathtub disregards a couple of moments of very simple, sad human history.
I’m a Regular Joe, and Regular Joes and Josés are what make Texas great. Yet, no one celebrates us humble folk.