Well, it finally happened. After seven years of what I thought was a blissful marriage, The Wife kicked me out.

Monday night, she threw me and The Boy out on the curb like yesterday’s trash. Not because of any of my faults. I have none. Like most husbands, I’m perfect. No, The Boy and I had to leave for the evening because SHE was coming: the Bunco Queen.

There are a million pieces of news out there and a million people to talk to when trying to report it. Like every other area of life, it’s pretty easy to get things wrong and it’s even easier to miss the innuendo or the intent of a particular speaker when assembling a story.

This is a true story. I swear on my favorite pair of Manolos (the hot pink stilettos) that it is.

Mama, despite a somewhat vigorous existence, had been feeling puny for a few months and, to be brutally honest, wasn’t looking her best. It’s probably a certainty that the suffering of her beauty, not the suffering of her body, was what got her, at long last, to go to Dr. Jeff Marshall, her beloved heart doctor.

New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia is hosting a youth conference later this month. One of the questions addressed will be, “Where is God in the hip hop culture?” So much violence and evil has been identified with hip hop. Thankfully, there are musicians who are out to redeem hip hop and bless God through it. Personally, I can dig hip hop. As teens use to say on Dick Clark’s bandstand show, “I like the beat.”

The correct number for Tree Climbing USA is 770-487-6929.

For publishing the wrong number in the May 24 column, my apologies to Abram Winters – and to an unknown telephone subscriber who may be wondering why people are calling him or her about climbing trees.

While this week marks a big week in my household because we are celebrating two birthdays, it is also huge as Friday marks the beginning of the 2006 World Cup. I know there are a lot of soccer fans in this area but I also know that a lot of people around here don’t “get it” and that the nation as a whole may be collectively yawning about this event. Whatever side of the fence you are on about the World Cup, I urge everyone to support the United States squad and give this amazing athletic experience a chance.

Most everybody believes at some level that government wrongdoing exists. The day has long waned since Mark Twain said, “It can probably be proved with facts and figures that there is no distinctly native American criminal class except Congress.” The decades since those words were uttered has been sporadically rocked with government wrongdoing, cover-ups and denial. This is nothing new, you say. You’re right. Yet once in a while some honest employee, government or corporate, will try to stand up for the truth, to expose wrongdoing. And for their trouble they often pay a price. Well, the price got a little heavier earlier this week when the U.S. Supreme Court slapped the American people in the face with a ruling that essentially gives government the go-ahead to punish employees who challenge wrongdoing and take it public.

English was not my best subject in high school. Neither was anything else, actually, unless you count Physical Education.

The first sign that summertime had arrived to Flamingo Street started with the last ringing of the school bell. We were finally released from the prison that the grownups called Mt. Olive Elementary school.

Have you noticed there are an awful lot of men who own cats now?

When did that start?

Did the feminist movement back-fire on us? I mean we all know the point of the movement was to take and not give. But it looks like men just got tired of us taking and taking, pushing our way onto their turf so, when we weren’t looking, they turned around on us and took something that belonged to exclusively to womanhood.

Picture this. You are in the upper room with the rest of the disciples including Peter, James, and John and even Mary, the mother of Jesus. You are being obedient to the last command of Jesus before he ascended to the Father. You are waiting and praying. You are waiting for the fulfillment of a promise. Then, to everyone’s aghast, your cell phone rings with the “Hallelujah Chorus,” indeed appropriate music but inappropriate time. You, a transport from 2006, forgot to turn your cell phone off.

Got this little note from my credit card company recently, when they decided to change their contract rules: “We may amend this Agreement at any time. We may amend it by adding, deleting, or changing provisions of this Agreement.”

Those flowers I planted - burned to a crisp.

So, here's the next thing I need to research - the proper watering of flowers, plants, lawns, etc.

It is true that South Fulton County is undergoing the most important metamorphosis in its history. Incorporation and annexation issues abound. And while we will continue to bring these issues to your attention, I decided to use this space to make a few observations on the national issue of immigration.

It was about 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning recently when I stopped at a local convenience store to purchase a bottle of water. I approached the counter to pay for the item when the clerk, a young black man, seeing my clerical collar, asked me if I was a minister. When I responded that I was, he asked several questions about our church. Most of the queries were routine but the last one stopped me cold.

Yes ‘tis summer time once again. It’s time for beaches, sunning, barbecuing, and my favorite – cutting grass.

When I was 11, Dad bought a rotary push mower for us four boys to cut the grass with. “Why didn’t you buy a gas power mower?” I asked. He replied with a smile on his face, “When you’re older you’ll understand and appreciate it. Now you and your brothers go cut the yard. It’s not but a little more than an acre and besides it’ll be good exercise.”

Fayette County’s future is coming into focus, and many of you — maybe even most of you — won’t like the view.

It was probably my calling to Dave that got the attention of a fisherman on the bank of Lake Horton. I was trying to keep my voice moderate, while avoiding the use of the word “snake,” lest I panic picnickers.

On the way home from a speaking engagement, my sister, Louise, called me on my cell phone.

“Whadda you doin’?” she asked as usual then quickly cut to the purpose of the call.

“It’s summertime and the living is easy.

“Fish are jumping and the cotton is high.

“Your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good-looking ... ”

Several years ago I revisited Parris Island, South Carolina. I first arrived at that dreadful place on Friday the 13th of February, 1970, as a just-turned 19-year-old.

After talking with my dad last weekend, it seems I had several misconceptions about him while I was growing up.

We had a large family: four boys, one girl, two dogs, and a green parakeet that ate hushpuppies off Dad’s head. The first misconception was the reason we had a garden every year. I thought it was for additional food to feed the family. Come to find out, this was not the reason Dad spent so much time in the backyard.

He didn’t even notice the neat rows of new candles hanging from the racks as he crossed the porch and stepped into the kitchen.

Most of us are still shaking our heads over the decision last week of the Houston Texans passing up Reggie Bush with the #1 overall pick in the 2006 NFL Draft. Honestly, I’m sitting here and cannot remember the name of the young man the Texans did draft with the first pick. What’s that tell ya? If you were to force me to try and remember I’d have to go with Ryan Leaf…no, maybe it sounded more like Brian Bosworth…no, wait a minute…I think it was more like Marcus Dupree. Anyway, if I were the Texans’ Director of Player Personnel, I might get my resume out there on Monster, soon.

When my beloved godfather left this vale of sorrow and tears for a better place, he slipped away quietly, softly and without warning.

Hollywood is at it again. “The DaVinci Code,” of which I speak. A big movie based on a best selling book is coming to a screen near you. This movie must be differentiated from the likes of “The Passion of the Christ.” The Passion was a Biblical portrayal of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, prompted in large part by the passion of Mel Gibson. Gibson funded the film. The Code, on the other hand, is the product of Sony Pictures which is motivated by what will make money. Sony is a huge conglomerate that owns, in part, the popular television shows “Jeopardy” and “Wheel of Fortune.”

That’s right; I’m delving into the world of politics. Since the Bozos we now have in office are doing such a stellar job, I figured it was about time someone who knows how to run things got into office. That person would be Mom, and by the end of this article, you will agree with me.

If we hadn’t taken the golf cart to Easter services, we would have missed the first song of the thrush. There are several densely wooded pockets on our route, perfect haven for songbirds, and we’ve listened to thrushes there every spring. But if we’d driven the car that glorious morning, we would not have heard those first-of-the-season flute tones.

Mother’s Day brings to mind the twisted path that took us to China to adopt our two girls from orphanages, both at 12 months old. Kristen, the youngest, is 4 this year, old enough now to buy a present for Mom with Dad’s help, old enough for our Chinese Moon Festival conversation.

Mama, never one to hold back her opinion, was commenting on my latest columns.

“You know, they’re just not as interesting when you don’t write about me,” she commented casually. “You haven’t written much about me lately.”