To read more by Joseph B. Walker, visit Twitter: JoeWalkerSr

According to my calculations, this is the 1,314th time I’ve situated myself in front of a computer keyboard to write a weekly column that attempts to look at contemporary issues from the perspective of traditional values. It is also the last time.
The first thing you need to know about Byron and Anita is this: those aren’t their real names.
I was sitting there at my desk, minding my own business (well, OK, minding my boss’s business), when all of a sudden it hit me. The headache. The nausea. The overall general uckiness.
A long, backbreaking project was energized and easy, as two brothers worked hard — together.
John Adams didn’t have anything against the Fourth of July. He just thought it was two days too late.
My son and I had a relationship based on a certain set of assumptions. And now those assumptions are no longer valid, so we had to reconfigure our relationship based on new realities and circumstances.
My young friend never had a father in his own life, but as we approach his first Father’s Day as a father, he’s figuring out fatherhood with the help of a 2-month-old baby named Luke.
After making my usually calm and dignified father literally hopping mad one bedtime, my sisters learned that no matter how good we may be with words, we often teach our most powerful messages without them.
We tell a crude joke or make an inappropriate comment to or about someone else, or we criticize others for situations and circumstances beyond their control, and the greatest harm that is done is to ourselves.
I only wanted three things for my high school graduation: a really nice watch, a really good kiss and some idea what the heck I was going to do for the next 60 years or so.
Memorial Day is a time for remembering, with flowers representing what Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called “the forget-me-nots of the angels” — or, in some cases, smelly irises and lilacs.
That last-second free throw during an NBA playoff game may be stressful or filled with anxiety or even extreme tension. But it is definitely not The Pressure.
On this Mother’s Day, I honor the two great women in my life: the one who gave me life, and the one who gave my life meaning.
Jon and I didn’t save Will last Sunday; we only retrieved him. Someone else saved him. And God knows.
Ollie and I have a strange and wonderful relationship. I think it’s strange to have a pet that is definitionally wild. Ollie thinks it would be wonderful to eat me.
If we have established a personal history of integrity, honesty, hard work and fair play, people will tend to give us the benefit of the doubt when we occasionally fall humanly short of perfection.
By choosing to carry the full weight of every steppingstone and stumbling block we encounter on our journey through life, we give inordinate power to the past and dissipate the energy we should be focusing on the present and the future.
As I was driving to California that Easter weekend, I decided there was one thing I wasn’t going to tell my dying father — especially on Easter weekend. I wasn’t going to tell him “goodbye.”
I’m not trying to say that Mike’s foot was suddenly physically healed by a loving and well-intentioned kiss from his 3-year-old son. But there’s no denying that that pure, authentic act of love made Mike feel better.
With March Madness capturing so much attention this week, we look at the original March madness and wonder with Cervantes: “Who knows where madness lies?”
Looking back, it seems there are a lot of things that I didn’t really appreciate in my youth that I later grew to enjoy — even to savor. Like Mom’s corned beef and cabbage.
I’m just focusing on the “spring forward” part of the Daylight Saving Time equation. Isn’t that a bold, dynamic, optimistic message? “Spring forward” with your life!
While it’s true there are times when we need to adapt, I’m thankful there are still people like my neighbor and friend David — not quite a saint … yet — who live lives of constancy, clarity and harmonious purpose.
They call them the Golden Years, but from where I sit it’s not gold I’m seeing. It’s gray. Several shades of it, in fact.
Whether we’re learning to walk or learning to run a business, starting a new habit or breaking an old one, taking a weekend getaway or the journey of a lifetime, no steps are more important than the first ones.
I wonder how often I settle for surviving when I believe we were all born to thrive.
It amazed me then — and often has since — what a major difference a minor adjustment can make. The same principle holds true in matters interpersonal.
There were pressures, deadlines and hard decisions to make. But for two hours at least, Nile was there for his daughter, right when she needed him.
And now, 50 years later, it appears that we’re wrestling again — or maybe we’re just still wrestling. Either way, it’s clear that we haven’t overcome — not really. Not completely. No matter what the song says.
I see a list on some website — you know, the 25 best this, or the 10 worst that — and I’m on it, pointing and clicking feverishly until I’ve consumed every bit of ordered information.