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Ms. Lattimer’s words evoke a time not too long past, where love of country meant everything and family was foremost in most men’s minds. The first paragraph snagged me and sent me back in time and would not let me go until the last page. I enjoyed the journey.


JOURNEYS FROM A BOY TO A MAN is written as a testimony to the author's husband. It's touching, funny, and well written. Romance Reader at Heart

A fabulous read for a rainy day when you need a life affirming lift!  Curl up in your favorite chair and bring along this book. You won’t regret the read!  Lighthouse Literary Reviews

JOURNEYS FROM A BOY TO A MAN is one of those books that the reader will remember long after he finishes reading the story.  Kudos to Ms. Lattimer for sharing this very human, very wonderful story.   Don't miss JOURNEYS FROM A BOY TO MAN.  4 Flames - Word Museum



   Mike is caught with his finger in the cherry pie! He learns not to lie.

It was a sunny, warm day in July when his mother placed the freshly baked pie on the window sill, before she and the others left early to go shopping. Mike was alone in the house with the cherry pie; at least he thought he was. He should have known that his mother would never really leave him alone to go shopping. The aroma was drawing him closer to it, almost like a hypnotic trance. He went straight to the windowsill and admired the pie as the steam slowly eased from the crust.

Standing on his tiptoes, he took a finger and thrust it deep into the center of the pie, then licked the sweet nectar off his finger. The mere taste was better than anything he could ever dream. As he stood licking the evidence from his finger, he wasn’t aware his father was standing in the hallway observing his every move. With the last tiny fragment removed from his little finger, he turned and saw his father.

Mike swallowed hard enough to be heard even down the street. Oops, had he seen what he had done? Surely not. Be-sides there was no proof. His finger was clean as a whistle. His father walked over toward him and gazed at the pie. An impression had been made in the crust.

“Mike, did you stick your finger in your mother’s fresh baked cherry pie?” His father’s voice was bold, stern. His body towered over Mike as he looked down at his son’s short thin frame.

“Who me?” Mike asked, surprised, trying not to show any sign of guilt. “No, Daddy, I was just looking at it.”

“You sure about that, son?”

Oh no, there was that son remark. Mike nodded to let him know he was more than sure. He even stuck out his finger allowing him to see no stain of cherry pie had even touched its surface.

“You could ask Billy. He is always messing with things he isn’t supposed to.” Really great, Mike, blame your younger brother. Dig the hole to your grave a little deeper. “I can’t even reach the pie, see?” he said while reaching with his hand.

“Son, you know one thing I cannot tolerate is for someone to lie to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All you would have to do is stand on your tip toes. Or get a chair. Now did you stick your finger in the pie?”

What was wrong with the man today? Wasn’t his answer sufficient? It wasn’t like he had eyes all over and could see his every move.

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

“No, Daddy, it wasn’t me,” he lied in an innocent tone.

His eyes grew large, as the veins in his neck began to pop out. He was, without a doubt, very upset with Mike.

“Mike, I am not punishing you for sticking your finger in the cherry pie, but for the lie you just told me.” He pointed over toward the hallway. “I was standing right over there when I saw you stick your finger in the pie. You deliberately stood there and told me a bold face lie, Mike. Now, I will ask you once more, before I spank your little rear. Did you do it?”

For the life of him, Mike still could not fess up. Here the man had seen the whole thing, caught him in the act, and he couldn’t tell him the truth. With all the boldness he could muster, he looked deep into his father’s eyes and answered his question.

“No, Daddy.”

Nothing more was said. He took hold of Mike and gave him a whipping. Mike later wondered if he had told him the truth, would his father have let it go? But he knew his fear of actually confessing the truth weighed heavy on him. It was a lesson, on a bright, sunny morning in July that he knew he would always call to remembrance, especially whenever he bit into a piece of cherry pie. That was the last time he ever lied to his father.

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