Letter From The Editor | These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

What is it? This Grandma Thing? I’d heard other women talk about how amazing it was to be a grandmother, and, when they talked about their grandchildren, they seemed completely, almost embarrassingly, smitten. I really didn’t think that would happen to me — until it did. But, how? Why? For one thing, grandmahood is the ultimate do-over. Even the best parents are only operating by trial and error, and the errors, unfortunately, have really loud voices. By the time we’re grandparents, however, we’ve garnered a bit of wisdom and perhaps some confidence as well. We see that, despite our many flaws and failures, we’ve managed to raise law-abiding citizens who

Marines in dress uniform lead the parade Senior citizens seek shelter in the shade Scouts march in step along with high school bands City officials greet the public in the reviewing stands. Just across the way among the flag-waving public stage Stands an old veteran, stooped and bearing the burden of age Suddenly he stands erect, his right hand raised in salute As Old Glory passes, he offers his valiant tribute. His left hand whisks away a tear from his eye as he recalls those to whom he never said “Goodbye.” From Flanders Field where the poppies grow To Arlington, its pristine white crosses row upon row From the flag

Fear of the unknown can be quite the compelling catalyst. It is easy to put a feeling on the top shelf, pushed as far back as it can go, in that out-of-the-way closet that is never opened. When it does arise, you quickly avert recognition of said feeling and wait for it to pass from your field of view. This is what the thought of holding a firearm was like for me. I was never really exposed to firearms growing up. My father hunted dove with his shotgun when I was younger. Until I moved out to go to college, the shotgun stayed zipped up in a bag, standing upright

If I had a quarter for every time I was asked this question, I could have paid for my child’s college education. Names are interesting. Southerners love to unearth the family Bible and hunt for names or find old church cemeteries and read tombstones. Charleston people like to use street names; I can make fun of Charlestonians since I am one. Meet my son Ashley Tradd Beufain Smith. Our daughter’s name will be Calhoun Vandeshorst Lockwood Ravenel. My high school bud, Dr. George Gratzick has a great suggestion for twin boys. He said to name one twin Heyward and the other Ulysses. Just yell “hey, you” when you forget which