Vicious lies must be met with no reaction whatsoever. Hatred of the God Damned Liar and his enablers must not be allowed to fester. Equanimity demands it. It's called the art of letting go. It is the hardest thing in the world to do.
Wednesday, June 8, 2022
When We Was Boys
I was the youngest of the three. Although they were technically my uncles, I thought of them as brothers from the mountains of Morgan County. I was crazy about my uncles, Tom and Tim. Thomas Wayne Sexton and Tinsely Barton Sexton. Tom, pitured right, was the oldest. That's me in the middle, to the right of Tim. I think this photo was taken at Rock City on Lookout Mountain, above Chattanooga by our mutual caretaker, my mother, Mary Sue Sexton Whetstone. They were responsible for toughening me up. Thank you, Tom. Thank you, Tim. Thank you, Mommy, too.
