In Oklahoma, when the thunder rolls and the wind starts to hum, that old kitchen radio comes alive again. She reaches for the dial — the same one she used to turn when Toby was just a barefoot kid, sitting on the floor and humming along as Hank Williams played through the static. Now, it’s Toby’s own voice coming through. “Don’t Let the Old Man In.” She closes her eyes, and suddenly, time folds back — the smell of biscuits in the oven, sunlight across the counter, and her little boy’s voice filling the house. “Mama,” he once said, “someday, I’ll be the one on that radio. She laughed, shaking her head. “Just promise me you’ll always sound like you.” All these years later, she still listens the same way — not as the mother of a country star, but as a mother hearing her son’s heart in every word. The song fades, the room grows still, and through the soft hiss of the radio, she almost hears him say, “Still me, Mama.” She smiles, lets the radio hum, and whispers to the quiet room, “Still proud, son.”
admin Introduction: A few years back, I stumbled upon Clint Eastwood’s film The Mule late at night, expecting just another crime drama. But what lingered in my mind long after the…