My mom was a librarian and my dad an English teacher so books were always stacked on the dining room table or tossed on the floor beside recliners. As a young girl, I carried a novel with me all the time. 

My very favorite book was The Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I remember hiding it on the shelf at my elementary school library so no one else could check it out. I think I read it at least 10 times in a three-year span. It’s funny I didn’t ask my parents to just buy it for me, but these were the days before Amazon and there was something magical about holding it in my possession for only a short period of time. 

By Martin Dyckman • Guest Columnist

A nonpartisan nominating commission can be the best method of appointing judges. Or it can be the worst. It’s all in the details.

The North Carolina General Assembly’s current scheme, which appears on the Nov. 6 ballot as Amendment 4, is one of the worst. Too much is wrong on its face and some all-important details are left to future decisions of that same legislature. That’s like putting ISIS in charge of airport security. Senate President Phil Berger and House Speaker Tim Moore have shown that there’s no power they are reluctant to abuse. 

My wife and I do not play chess. A few years ago at a company Christmas party, we were participants in a game of Dirty Santa and came away with a chess set featuring oversized chess pieces that glowed in the dark. I had originally opened a gift I actually wanted — a big coffee mug with a nice bag of gourmet whole bean coffee — but some guy in a hideous Christmas sweater swiped it from me because he drew a better number and preferred my coffee bonanza to the chess set that he opened.

As a child, I wanted to grow up and plan a big fancy wedding with a ruffly white dress, then have two little girls and name them Veronica and Samantha. As one of two girls in a family of four, this is all I knew. My middle-class childhood wasn’t indulgent in any way, but it was happy and secure. My sister and I knew our parents loved us more than anything. Both my mom and dad worked multiple jobs to give us opportunities and experiences we couldn’t have otherwise had. I’m forever appreciative of that, and I 100 percent credit them for nurturing and encouraging my adventurous spirit. 

I did not go to college with Brett Kavanaugh, but I went to college at about the same time he did, and the portrait that has emerged of him over the past couple of weeks is one that I remember pretty clearly. There were plenty of beer-loving, weightlifting, cocky, entitled, belligerent frat boys on lots of college campuses in the early 1980s. 

You would find them preening at the local bars, singing too loudly, invading others’ space, splashing beer on people, daring anyone to complain about it. My friends and I, most of whom were also beer-loving and some of whom could be pretty obnoxious themselves if under the influence of 10 or 12 glasses of Schlitz Malt Liquor Bull, we really, really, REALLY hated those guys. You see, these guys were already all of those things before consuming their first beer. They just used beer like kerosene to inflame these qualities. 

When I vote, I take a broad perspective. I care about the present and its immediate requirements, but I also consider the long-range view, and by melding the two, I try to vote wisely and compassionately. 

Though not a one-issue voter, I am a voter whose career-long focus has been on public education and poverty, undoubtedly ad nauseum to those who know me best.

By Lori Wright • Guest Columnist

To all of my fellow teachers and parents, I only have one question: how much more do we have to endure? School has started again, and with that comes a yearly tradition. Once again, teachers like me are being forced to beg for basic school supplies. Some supplies I will be able to get from generous friends and families, but what will I do for the supplies I can’t get through donations? The same thing public school teachers are forced to do every year — pay for these basic classroom supplies out of our own pockets. 

For many years, I thought of myself as one of Flannery O’Connor’s “Christ-haunted” characters, living my life in a kind of perpetual spiritual limbo, unable to turn my back on religion altogether, equally unable to fully embrace it. I sometimes felt that Christ was chasing me back to church, and Christians were chasing me right back out of it.

By Bob Scott • Guest Columnist

The proposed Mission/HCA sale could be the most significant event — negative or positive — to affect Franklin and the region for decades. As Franklin’s mayor, I have a duty and obligation to see that our residents and visitors are not shortchanged in this $1.5 billion sale of Mission to HCA.

The sounds, the feel of the coming fall is always comforting, like reconnecting with an old and dear friend.

It was just shy of 8 a.m. Saturday as I opened my book, blowing lightly at my steaming coffee. I sorted the pillows from our porch furniture on my lap so I could aim the pages in the direction the sun would appear when it cleared the mountain. Angling the book to catch just the right natural reading light is tricky early in the day on the covered porch. My wife, Lori, and I usually play this game together and against each other, the early riser getting the best spot, the loser spending more time than the other to coax the sunlight into position.