Letter to the Editor: I enjoyed reading Dr. Norman Hoffman’s opinion piece in the Friday, November 12, issue. I appreciate his concerns about the teaching of history in our public schools, his experiences as a public school student, and his reference to Critical Race Theory (CRT). I am prompted to comment on three things he wrote about.

By Martin Dyckman • Guest Columnist | Some people may still wonder how the Germany of a century ago could have spawned Adolf Hitler, World War II and the Holocaust. It was, after all, one of the best-educated and highly cultured nations in Europe, if not the world.

“Sometimes I need / Only to stand / Wherever I am / To be blessed.”  — Mary Oliver 

I’ve had mixed feelings about the “COVID police” since the beginning of the pandemic’s lockdowns.

There has been a lot of hype about Critical Race Theory (CRT) — most of it false. CRT actually involves very sophisticated scholarship about how race and racism have been connected to legal, social and economic systems and events. It is not something that could or would be taught even at the high school level. 

When practice begins each year for the new high school marching band season, summer is still bearing down, the sun boiling high in the August sky as a bunch of confused teenagers take their first tentative steps toward learning what will eventually become an intricate show with about 10,000 moving parts.  

I know Rep. Mike Clampitt, R-Swain, and he’s a likeable, personable guy whom I disagree with on a lot of issues concerning how best to govern North Carolina. Political and ideological differences, though, are healthy and make for good debate and are the cornerstone of our representative democracy. Finding common ground amid those differences is how good government works.

For several years, The Smoky Mountain News has partnered with the Haywood Chamber of Commerce to publish its annual magazine. 

Travel is one of my favorite soul foods, but it’s also cool to really get to know the place you live. I’ve spent most of my life in North Carolina and I know the state well. I’ve stowed my bicycles and parked my cars at addresses in nine different towns and cities in every compass quadrant of the state since moving here in 1970.

Being a mom is always hard, but there is something uniquely challenging about parenting an adolescent. For me, it felt like my 12-year-old morphed into a young man overnight. Within one calendar year, he grew six inches and three shoe sizes. I watched his pants grow shorter each day like he was a superhero molting into a larger, more powerful form. Suddenly his voice was deeper, and I found myself grasping for his little boy octave, the one without the baritone sound and crackly inflection.