Monday was Cpl. Charles O. Palmer's 43rd birthday.
A strange and wonderful thing happened to me recently, and all it took was this column – and years of being a pain in the butt.
Cut grass, new uniforms, smiling faces, and hope. These are the main ingredients to the beginning of baseball season - for all ages. Seeing the pictures of the 75th installment of the Manteca Little League Opening Day Ceremony made me very jealous. Those were hands down the greatest days.
On the 7th column he restedPhew, how did Pat O' Leary do it?! I'm only seven columns in and my index finger is sore, an unfortunate circumstance of being a chicken pecker that never learned to type.
The almond trees are blossoming, the bees are buzzing – and garbage and dogs are being dumped in the countryside. Nothing says Ansel Adams or Thomas Kinkade springscape like a 26-inch broken Zenith lying next to an old dresser by the side of the road. It seems every year around this time, someone's spring cleaning discards become a part of rural Manteca. Do people not know about the dump? Or the fact that the city will come to your house once a year for large disposals?
Long, long ago in a Manteca far, far away, I'm told of the 25-cent haircut. Even as a young boy in the 1970s that seemed to be the greatest bargain ever. During my childhood, Manteca offered a few spots; Dan's Barber Shop and Sadies come to mind. All the women in my family went to Sadies, which is why I wouldn't.
It is with a heavy heart that I write this week's column. The unexpected loss of family member Janet Teicheira on Friday morning has left us in a state of mourning and disbelief. Janet is my father's first-cousin; they were a few months apart in age. That fact alone made her much more an aunt than a cousin. Being part of a large Portuguese family, you are taught generational respect at an early age. The Teicheiras of my dad's generation (the third in Manteca are more like aunts and uncles and the generation above them were revered ...
I've recently encountered a strange new phenomenon sweeping the community. It goes by several names: "I was never Here-itis" or "Don't use that Quote-emia." Some people stricken by this don't realize for a day or two and then catch "Post Event Regrettia." The personal satisfaction I receive upon getting a phone call or text the next day, the one informing me "I wasn't there – keep me out of the column," is very short-lived. For one, I'm quite adept at reading the room and am not looking to cause collateral damage with this column. Secondly, and ...
A sincere thank you to everyone that enjoyed the first installment of "Manteca to a T." Hearing from my Grandmother that Earl "The Pearl" Pimentel was proud of his former student's column or being forwarded a message from coach Joe Handy – "Teicheira you're like a Virginia Slim. You've come a long way, baby!" – had me walking tall and proud for a day … until I stopped by my mother's house for dinner Friday night.
Looking at my mother you'd never guess she has a 35-year-old son. She does – but my brother Richie has nothing to do with me turning 42.
September has arrived, and for farmers across the San Joaquin Valley that means one thing – harvest time.
It seems that everywhere you turned this summer, somebody was filming part of a movie right here in Manteca. Whether occupying a local gymnasium, hospital or grocery store, Manteca was a destination spot for several filmmakers.
There is an immeasurable sense of brotherhood and fellowship that exists between people that have been football teammates. I'm talking about real football – not that game you play at the park with your older brothers, though that is a wonderful way to refine your skills. I'm talking two-a-days, mid-summer heat, sprints for five straight days, and haven't even seen a football on the field yet. Then you finally get your helmet and pads.
I've been preparing to write this football column for nearly three weeks and the only thing that has become clear is that I could legitimately write a column about football every single day for the next 25 years without having to repeat myself.
This was going to be my column about football and women; my male chauvinist view of how women are ruining my enjoyment of the sport. Not the ones that hate it, but the ones that feel the need to show us how much they love the sport. We get it: You like football, but you've begun to invade our space – and some of us don't like having to share our "Mary-Kay" party with you. But I'm going save it until next week. I figure the backlash will be severe enough that the Bulletin will be forced to ...
It's mayoral campaigning time around town. I'm on a comedy road trip to Seattle and noticed every town and city had their signage on full display. I began daydreaming about what it would be like to be the mayor of our town. I, of course, would take this on as a lifetime gig. The daydream soon turned into full sleep as I drifted away to distant future Manteca, a dreamland that incorporated both old and new Manteca.
Happy 26th column everyone! That may seem like an arbitrary number to celebrate, but it means I'm halfway through. No, this column hasn't been some court-mandated punishment handed down for years of bad behavior on the mean streets of Manteca. It means my goal of doing this for a year is halfway complete. I don't often set goals for myself, or as I call it "Life Pacing," but I'm finding there have been many ancillary benefits to striving for these things people call goals.
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