I’m filled with so many stories to tell

John Fountain (with cap in hand on the right) as a little boy with his grandmother and other members of his West Side clan on a family outing (circa 1960’s). (Provided by John Fountain)

This is my swan song. I peck the keys of my MacBook Pro amid these dancing blue waters that lap at this shore, where majestic skyscrapers glisten in the summer evening sun. Here where I grew up a ghetto boy on the West Side, where I was introduced by Mama to the virtues of a newspaper.

I don’t remember the first time I creased the hometown paper, held it in between my fingers, or ingested it. Or when I grew to respect newspapers, their power and purpose.