Didn't people die every day that you did whatever it was that you did before the day that you died? All while the uncomfortable truth emerged and whispered that you made no good goddamn difference, while the others stress to burnish into new time the lie that says that even that has got to stand good for something, even if, in truth, it was good for absolutely nothing.
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.
