Two Pine Trees

By Evelyn Cooper and Mary Alford-Carman The following presents two prom perspectives - the mother of a daughter, and the mother of a son, on that scary day known as PROM DAY . "For the love of Mike! You need to get up! It's eight in the morning and we have half an hour to get you to the salon for a main/pedi! You've been hitting snooze for an hour. Where are my keys, get your purse! Let's go!" "Yeah, he's sleeping. Let's go get some breakfast. Cracker Barrel?" Ten in the morning and yes, we're still getting the nails done. Mid-way the daughter unit decides the color scheme is just too much and must be changed to a French manicure. Mama is shooting freeze, dried Folgers. Because, ya know, caffeine. "Wow, you're up? Gonna eat anything decent or just sticking with that leftover bag of Halloween candy? Who is that? Manchester United? Thought you were an Everton fan? Oh, ok. We're headed to CVS for some vitamins for your D...

Do you hear that? It’s the sound of fingers tap, tap, tapping to a stressful beat, while accountants account everywhere during tax season. Line after line of what can be deducted, who is a dependent and what is depended upon blurs together with the flying of fingers on a keyboard. Nothing is sure, but death and taxes, uh-huh. I believe that fully because I was taught by the best, my Dad. Every year of my growing up, the tax race started as soon as January First came out of the gate. My father was never late with his taxes, and he expected that the IRS should be grateful enough at his prowess and speed, that he always sent his taxes with “Return Receipt Requested.” The three R’s were quite important to my Daddy. If they wanted his money, they could at least sign for it, not to mention it proved that no one could ever say that his taxes were lost in the mail if he had his “Return Receipt.”  It was my Daddy’s way of saying that if he had to work hard to send ...