where the writers are

Michael Gage's Blog

RSSSyndicate content
When I was little, Eddy Spaghetti was our paperboy.  It took all afternoon for him to deliver the newspapers because he stopped a million times to drag in garbage cans, carry grocery bags, help with yard work, and, most importantly, play with us kids.  Our parents liked him, and we kids adored him...
Continue Reading » 1 comment
When I started grade school, my mother decided that I should walk to school with little Harry, my next door neighbor.  Each morning, I knocked on their side door, and Harry's mother would let me in and have me sit by the door, on a stiff, wooden bench.  Harry was Armenian, and his home reeked of...
Continue Reading »