Angel Wheeler

my dad

  • In Memory of My Dad #17

    Being Santa Claus Isn’t Always Easy, Unless You Believe by R.L. Briggs Commentary Speaking from past experience, one of the best things that can happen when you are playing Santa Claus is to get those baggy pants off, the whiskers out of your mouth and those phony bootees off your shoes. Nobody helps.  Everyone else… Read more

  • In Memory of my Dad #16

    The laziness of summer causes my days to run together, but then I remembered today is Saturday, which means a story from Bob. Tear Gas Didn’t Go Over at Sonny’s Soul Kitchen That Night R.L. Briggs Though the details on your arrival are a bit fuzzy, the terrain is not all that unfamiliar, so you… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #15

    It was the kid’s first job as a pipefitter with the H.B. Zachery Company,  he had just picked up his card in Amarillo, Texas and was now driving down to Lubbock where the big turnaround was to take place. A turnaround is where a plant is shut down for two or three weeks and a bunch… Read more

  • Memorial Day

    The flags were flying high and proud at Ft. Gibson National Cemetary this past Monday. I took a solitary road trip to visit my dad’s grave. This trip was a journey of healing for me.  Not complete healing, only partial.  But I’ll take partial. My dad’s death hasn’t seemed real to me.  He lived in… Read more

  • Now

    Don’t come to pay me homage or spill tears upon my stone. Come now and let me touch you, Let me know I’m not alone. I need the sweet assurance of your warm and gentle smile. I yearn to hear your laughter, sit beside me for a while. When Jesus comes to take me to… Read more

  • In Memory of my Dad #14

    Gremlins sit at my elbow, grinning inanely at me as I try to work. Try to be interesting and hold the reader by the hand, leading him or her through a myriad of words. Sometimes I think writing a column is the hardest form of work there is. Certainly, it’s harder than laying pipe. It’s… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #12–When the goings got tough, the tough went over the hill

    When my wife, Anne, used to come home and find me gone, one of the children would say, “Dad has gone over the hill again.”  That would mean things at home had become a trifle thick and I’d walked out on the family once more. No, I don’t mean walked out for good, but I’m impatient… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #11

    Every Saturday I share a story written by my dad while he wrote commentaries for his local newspaper in Northeastern Oklahoma, a.k.a. Green Country.  I saw him at a local discount store making his way between the kitchen products and the greeting cards.  I was there picking up a birthday card for my sister, and… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #10

    written by Bob Briggs I recently motored out to West Texas for the holidays.  I saw a bunch of old friends and made more than a few parties while visiting there on the Golden Spread. One of the old friends I saw was Dave.  Dave was an old water well man and moon player, par excellence. … Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #9

    I love Saturdays for many reasons:  sleeping past the alarm, lounging in comfy clothes, a slower pace, slowly enjoying a second cup of coffee; sometimes even a third.  But right now in my life, I love Saturdays because it’s  a day when I hear from my dad.  His words, his stories, tell me more of his life… Read more