When I was growing up, Dr Pepper was a rare indulgence. Now it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come.
Essay
Stuttering is finally in the spotlight, thanks to Joe Biden’s campaign and the announcement of a groundbreaking new University of Texas research center. But it’s always been part of my life.
Rewarding and ignoring are the two key tenets of dog training. They’ve helped me get through this summer, too.
After living most of my life in Texas, I finally gave Willie Nelson a serious listen and learned a few things about my Nigerian mom.
Spoon is my favorite band. Spoon has a new album out. It is my favorite Spoon album. That is all.
She died twenty years ago, when I was ten. Yet even as the distance grows, I've found a way to keep her close.
When I needed a new home office, I thought I’d save money by hiring a draftsman. I got what I paid for—and more.
After my father abandoned us I had to grow up fast. And when the chance for payback came, I took it.
The heretical choice to not own a vehicle in a city that worships the automobile.
When my wife, Sonia Van Meter, was chosen as one of the Mars One finalists, I realized that my potential loss was humanity’s gain.
When I was nine years old, I struggled to make a super 8 movie as my life unspooled around me.
How a trip to South Padre Island, a grand theft auto, and an English folk singer forever changed my life’s course.
Beset by high-end interior Mexican, mid-range fajita-and-’rita chains, budget taquerias, and taco trucks—and whatever Torchy’s is—Houston’s old-school Tex-Mex is fading away.
Growing up in my family, there were things you just didn’t talk about. Like feelings. Or sex. Or dying from AIDS.
I thought being a landman in the Eagle Ford Shale would help replenish my bank account. I quickly got more than I bargained for.
How one feline (and then a couple more, and then another) conquered both our hearts and our mice.
As a teenager I thought a quick paint job would help my family blend in to our white suburban neighborhood. Now I'm glad it wasn't that simple.
Woodland Heights may not be the fanciest neighborhood in Houston, or the quietest, or the coolest (and it can be a little full of itself), but it’s mine.
If you have kids, being a caregiver to an elderly parent may feel a bit familiar.
In my 86 years I’ve come into the possession of an assortment of firearms: a Colt .32-caliber semiautomatic pistol that my grandfather bought at a hardware store in Cuero; a Remington Model 870 pump, 20-gauge shotgun that my Aggie uncle-by-marriage used to shoot birds; the Winchester Model 06 pump .22 rifle I got on my tenth birthday; and many others. And each one has a story.