My daughter has become the person she hoped she would be at age seven. We should all be so lucky.

“When I was seven, I had a vision of my junior year in high school,” she said. “I wanted a car, a boyfriend and a nice dress for the prom.”

We rode in silence. I glanced at the clock as we came to another stoplight. Already five minutes late, I assured Amy they couldn’t start without her. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll get there when we get there,” I said as she stared out the passenger side window. Her white lacy gown filled up the car, blocking my view of the gearshift. 

Last week, I went to a conference in L.A. with 800 other moms who tell their stories through creative outlets, whether it be blogging, writing, photography, video or social media. Flying out on Wednesday, I was feeling significant mom guilt about leaving my boys and indulging in a conference in sunny California. 

The first time I met Owen Gibby, he immediately reminded me of my favorite television character of all time, Deputy Barney Fife, and as I got to know him, that impression only intensified. They are about the same size and are both prone to exaggerated bug-eyed facial expressions, double takes, and dramatic pauses. I suspect that they learned at a very young age that being the funniest guy in the room has a lot of advantages for smaller guys trying to find their way in the world. Not only is being funny disarming, it turns out to be a better way to meet girls than anybody could have guessed.

By Nick Breedlove • Guest Columnist

On May 6-12 we celebrate National Tourism Week, and this year’s theme from the U.S. Travel Association is “Then and Now.” 

In my role as Director of the Jackson County Tourism Development Authority, my goal is to create awareness about what a special place this area is and to inspire others to travel here and spend a night, or two or three. 

By Evan Boyer • Guest Columnist

A few months ago, some legal trouble loomed over me, and I was told that it would be in my best interest to start doing community service. My mom mentioned Haywood Waterways. I contacted Christine O’Brian, and she told me about Howell Mill Road, the trash surrounding it and how it was increasing her blood pressure day by day. I needed hours, she needed help. So I donned a vest, grabbed a grabber, and set out to clean Howell Mill. 

We Americans are spoiled. Too often we take our way of life for granted, both the freedoms we have and the institutions that keep our democracy intact. Our republic is strong, but its survival is not a given. 

People who have traveled know that the biggest hearts beat in those who have the least. That’s a truth you’ll find throughout the world. In places where people struggle to find the day-to-day basics needed to stay alive, where scarcity is a way of life, you find friendliness and generosity in abundance.

Certain memories or events in life stand out as paramount, like a utopian experience that seems more like a movie than reality. This past weekend was one of those for me. Over 24 hours spent running in the backwoods of Western North Carolina bolstered my faith in humanity.

When I was a student at Appalachian State University, I could have made the walk from Anne Belk Library to Sanford Hall in my sleep and often did, or nearly so, on those mornings after a late, coffee-drenched night writing a paper on one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, or working through the impossible genealogy of a William Faulkner novel, or racing the sentences of James Joyce toward the dawn.

It’s one of those issues that garner headlines and controversy but really shouldn’t.

I’m talking about the Brunch Bill, the law passed by the state legislature that allows businesses to sell alcohol starting at 10 a.m. on Sunday if they want. Many municipalities and counties around the state have supported the law, deciding to let local businesses make that decision for themselves.