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The Slice

My quest to be called “Old Man Turner”

A little neighbor boy told me his name.

He was standing on his porch, across the street.

I said it was a good name.

Then he asked me for mine. I told him my first name, and spelled it.

His mother looked down at her son and said "He's Mr. Turner."

I should have suggested that I prefer neighborhood kids to call me "Old Man Turner" or "Mean Old Man Turner."

Maybe next time I see him, when I don't have to shout.

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The Slice

The online home for Paul Turner's musings and interactions with disciples of The Slice.