August 7, 2015
No More Soggy Slippers
By Steve Wyatt It was winter in West Virginia. Snow had freshly fallen and I, a 9-year-old geek if there ever was one, was wearing my cotton-flannel Zorro PJs and a brand-new pair of monster feet slippers. Something happened that was not to my liking (I can”t remember what it was), so I announced I was leaving. Moving out. Running away. No sooner had those words exited my mouth than Dad leaped out of his chair, grabbed a medium-sized suitcase, and proceeded to pack my bag. In less than three minutes, I was standing all alone on the front porch
