As a kid, if I scored some change, I might walk down to the local five-and-dime store and buy a pack of baseball cards. If I was lucky and had a dollar bill, the cashier would count back my change in a matter-of-fact fashion. It was a bit of a math lesson every trip to the store.
Earlier this month, it was National Hug a Newsperson Day. I did not receive a hug. Hugs are hard to come by nowadays. However, I am not a newsperson; I’m a columnist, so logically, I should not have been hugged.
Each generation tells its stories. Some are remarkable, in particular those of the Greatest Generation. The journeys of those raised during the Depression followed by a world war remind us of insurmountable obstacles that can be overcome.
Sometimes a kick in the posterior is just what someone needs. Randi Kallas was floundering a bit in college in the 1970s. In her junior year at the University of Minnesota, she had her sights set on a Journalism degree, but was running out of steam.