I grew up knowing the sound of boots on tile floors before dawn. The smell of starch and the weight of expectation hung in the air long before I understood what either meant. My childhood was painted in shades of olive drab and desert tan—structured, disciplined, and proud. The Army wasn’t just my family’s job; it was our way of life. You learn early on in a military household that time is a suggestion only if you enjoy push-ups. You also learn that “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am”

In the military and in law enforcement, we carry more than gear, radios, or rank, we carry the weight of what we’ve seen, what we’ve lost, and who we’ve tried to save. The statistic “22 a day” is often mentioned when talking about veteran suicides, but those of us who’ve lived it know it’s not just a number. It represents sons and daughters, moms and dads, husbands and wives, people who once stood tall in uniform and now struggle silently in the shadows. For those of us in l

October in southeastern Ohio has a way of wrapping us up in all the things that make community, well, community.  From trunk-or-treats...

Imagine you’re a nuclear reactor. You’re humming along, generating power, handling stress like a champ. You’re the dependable one, you...