BIRMINGHAM—Samantha had a baby. He was eight pounds. Even.

The kid needed emergency open heart surgery. He had a critical congenital heart disease. Doctors rushed him into the OR. Surgery took an eternity. The kid survived.

Today, he’s a teenager. Yesterday, when he got home from basketball practice, he had an epiphany. He told his mom he wanted to go into pediatric medicine. He wants to be a surgeon maybe. Wants to be in cardiac medicine.

“Why, sweetie?” Mom asked.

He shrugged his bony shoulders. She can still see the ropy scar on his sternum, beneath his sweaty tank top.

“Just ‘cause,” he said.

Teenagers.

FORT WORTH—There was a guy who had a car accident. A log truck pulled in front of him on the interstate. No blinker. Bam. It was nasty.

The guy was lying in a vehicle that resembled a crumpled Weltmeister accordion. Logs everywhere.

The fire-medics cut him out of the car. Officials were shocked to find that there were only a few scratches on him. He was dazed, but otherwise fine.

When the highway patrolmen

asked him about it, the guy said there was a man in the vehicle beside him during the accident. The man just appeared. The stranger wore white clothes. He had white hair. White beard.

Mid-wreck, the stranger had cradled the man’s head, bear hugged his body, and said, “You’re going to survive this.”

Today, that guy is in his late 70s.

VIRGINIA BEACH—She was walking home from work. She worked in fast food. She was still wearing her uniform. A dog started following her.

It was a Lab mix of some kind, and it was dragging two back legs. Even from a distance, she could see the legs had been crushed. Completely mutilated. A lot of blood.

The vet said it was probably a hit and run. The dog’s ribs were fractured. His head was damaged. Both back legs had been…

I get a lot of questions via email. Without wasting any more space, I’ll get to work answering a few.

Q: I am 20, male, I live in Indiana… I don’t have any hair on my chest or any facial hair. I don’t know what to do, man.

A: Get on your knees and thank God. Because some of us have back hair.

Q: I am an aspiring writer, I write every morning in a journal, but I don’t know how to get started TRULY writing. Any suggestions?

A: First off. If you’re writing, you’re not aspiring. You ARE a writer. Call yourself one. The only way to write is to do it. Which you are. Keep going. Keep driving, the right exit will appear.

Q: I don’t know how to talk to my teenage son. His father just died, and we were divorced for nine years. I don’t know what to say to my son, he’s just shut down on me. He’s doing some things he didn’t used to do, not necessarily bad things, but he’s

been spending time with bad friends I don’t approve of, and I feel so lost. How do I reach him?

A: You’re not going to get through him with disapproval. I’m not saying you have to support his choices, but you don’t have to punish him, either. Grief looks different for everyone. And nobody tells you that grief feels like fear. Keep in mind, I am no expert. But I do know that unconditional love is never the wrong answer.

Q: Someone told me to read your work, and my first thought was, “He’s just some idiot on social media.” But now I know that you are a fake and a liar, and all liars shall have their part in the Lake of Fire. Except ye repent ye shall perish.

A: Thank ye for the letter. Methinks ye shall end up in the…

I’m making changes this year. Little changes. The big changes never last. It’s little ones that stick. So I’m going to start by making my bed every morning.

When I was a kid, my mother believed, firmly, that making the bed set the tone for each day. So each morning I let her make my bed.

But now that I’m older, I’ve decided to make our bed every morning. Namely, because my mother believed that a man who makes his bed won’t ever be too disappointed in himself inasmuch as he accomplished at least one task today.

I’m also vowing to practice moderation. It will be my policy to drink only one beer at a time.

Another change I’m making: I’m going to play with my phone less. Phones are time-suckers. So I’m not going to play on my phone. Instead, I’m going to spend quality time playing on my wife’s phone.

I’m going to eat more bacon. Life is too short to deprive oneself of bacon. A woman named Susannah Mushatt Jones of Brooklyn, New York, lived until

age 116. She ate a serving of bacon every day. But frankly, I don’t want to live to 116, so I will also eat queso dip to offset things.

I’m going to give to homeless people more often. Every time I drive past a homeless guy I think to myself, “He’s just looking for drugs.” But my conscience knows better. Addicts need lunch too.

I’m going to do more meaningful stuff this year. I don’t exactly know what that means, but I mean it.

I’m going to run some 5Ks or 10Ks, for good causes. I’m going to do this because I enjoy running, because I like meeting people, and above all, because there is usually free beer at the finish line.

I’m going to attend more baseball games. My old man died young, and a few nights before he died,…