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We are the family of everyone who means us no harm, whatever the results of what they do. We love Pizza Friday, snow days, and getting into pajamas in the afternoon when we’ve spent the day at the beach. In fact, Gallagher-von-Durfeldom heaven is a Friday snow day near the ocean sharing a pie in our pjs. We hate things too, but nothing in common. Our only prejudice is that there is always a better way. As far back as we can remember, we have held jobs that suit our skills but more importantly suit our temperaments; hence shall ye know us by our satisfied smiles. If we have shortcomings, our bosses learn to deal with them. Now, anyone is welcome to adopt our way without joining the family, but whether by accident or from biological inevitability, we marry from families who act like Gallagher-von-Durfeldoms. Call it a tradition. It’s what we do, not what we say that makes us who we are, and we say what we say only so as not to say nothing. Keep an eye on us anyway. Though no more likely to cuddle with strangers than any other family, we press our faces for comfort or warmth whenever we need either to the faces of other Gallagher-von-Durfeldoms of any age or gender. If that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll never be G-v-D, but neither are we inviting you. We are sufficient. Wives who enter our family become everybody’s wife; husbands too, though this rarely happens, and children are watched by so many eyes they feel as if everyone is a parent. We neither subscribe nor prescribe; instead, we warn our youngsters, if the world begins to look like Gallagher-von-Durfeldom, beware whether it has changed to become like us or whether you have lost your way.
Copyright © November 06, 2009
Read the rest of this entry »As far as I’m concerned, no teacher goes into a classroom without concealed weapons. I know I never have. Chalk is a bullet in the right hands. Students have no idea what I’m up to or whether what I’m teaching them is algebra or how to live. They don’t get either at home. Where the district has it wrong is making me conceal my actual gun: they let me carry it to make the students safer; the policy makes that clear; so aren’t things even safer if the kids know I’m carrying? I know it makes me feel safer. Anyway, it’s not as if I could hide this bulge for long. The kids I need to worry about can smell the oil on the cylinders, just as I will smell theirs the day they think they’re too smart for me. The training was a joke. If I’m not already responsible, I wouldn’t have a permit in the first place. What I do is show it, to let them know there’s a willing readiness to balance anything they might bring to class. On your ankle today, sir? they ask me. Under your arm? At the hip? They don’t get the answer until they perform academically. I tell you, the kids we lost last year were casualties of academic failure. The shooters thought the only way to challenge authority was to shoot. Of course they came from broken homes. What home isn’t broken? We teachers have to raise a generation that isn’t taught anything, they’re only sold. From me they get nuance. From me they learn that authority is a matter of negotiation. We don’t just question it, we defy its right to exist until it proves itself. And extra credit for anyone who can make it into school with contraband.
Copyright © August 17, 2008
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Very Short Novels 
Thank you so much, anhinga, but I wouldn't want to try it without the other 199. —David
Why, thank you, brother. It's wonderful to see you here. :) —David
All you need is 100 words to make an emotional impact. Touching.
Brilliant, brother. Just simply brilliant.
This Very Short Novel has a strong resemblance to Simple Lessons of War from almost 20 years ago, but is…