Kerri Rawson had internal alarms going off on that cold February day. Her father had taught her about stranger danger, not to open doors to unknown people, to always be overly cautious. Even in her adulthood, she often recalled the lessons taught to her by her father, Dennis. He was a strong, cautious man who was always looking out for those he loved. On this day, there was a definitely more than one alarm going off as Rawson spotted the man who had been watching her apartment on the other side of her peephole. She wanted to hide, pretend she wasn't home. He was persistently knocking. When

I remember where I was the day Columbine happened. Anyone in Colorado on that fateful day will know where they were when the massacre happened. I was struck by the thought of finding out what the perspective would be on the other side of the coin. I discovered I had never really given any thought to what the parents of a murderer might be feeling or what their perspective might be.  My first thoughts would be along the lines of "What kind of parents raise someone like that?", assuming part of the responsibility must lie there. That's what makes some sense of the unthinkable. On som

Storytelling invites understanding. In particular, a real-life narrative, such as a memoir, asks for attention and comprehension. Recently, I enjoyed reading three disparate memoirs, appreciating their interesting information and separate points of view. Tig Notaro, Juan Thompson and Pat Summitt each tell different stories with distinct voices in memoirs published not long ago, and all three volumes are worth reading.