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Of Blast Furnaces, Bouffants, Buffoons, and Benevolence
Some years ago, my business partner and I needed to be in Bentonville, AR, for a client meeting. We flew in from Chicago the night before. Walmart was a quarter of the size it is today, thus the town hadn’t yet experienced its boom nor built its own airport. As a result, we touched down in Fayetteville and drove over.
At the time, business meetings were still done in a suit and tie. I commented how dapper he looked as we checked-out of our hotel. A chaired and distinguished professor from one of the top business schools in the country, he defied professorial stereotypes: that morning, he wore a hand-tailored double-breasted suit, a French-cuff shirt, Hermes tie, and little Italian loafers. He wore his hair long and perfectly coiffed – over his ears and beyond his starched white bankers’ collar (in the back). He was gorgeous.
The remarkable courtroom events, following the sentencing of Amber Guyger to 10 years in prison for the 
With very few exceptions over the years, I’ve never minded being defined in terms of my familial relationships. Dad’s daughter. Mr. She’s wife. Peachy’s granny. Sam, Mike and Jenny’s stepmother. I’ve never thought of myself as an appendage or a cipher, nor do I function as anybody’s foil. Although by no means perfect, I’m generally appropriately assertive, fairly well put together, and reasonably rational. Those who are determined to find fault certainly will, and I’m happy to keep them occupied; but I always try to keep in mind that they’re not perfect either. In general, I believe it’s better to get along than not, so I try to go through life as prescribed in 
