His name is Bishop and he lives across the street. He uses the front step as a soapbox. He stands out there for hours every day, making pronouncements to the universe that includes houses on every side of his. I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I don’t speak his language. But his voice is hard to block out. It would be better if it were a bass note, a deep arf. But it’s a high pitched yip. Yip, yip, yip. All day. Bishop has a lot to say.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “Bishop.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

4 thoughts on “Bishop”

  1. I met a gentleman by the name (not title) of Bishop when I was in mid-thirties, a time in life when you think you’ve come across everything that ever was or is. Change is ever the new normal though. Bishop was gracious, good, a great family man and lived out of deep religious faith. In fact, when the opportunity presented itself in his religion, Bishop became a Deacon so as to pass on that faith. How are these for paradox? “Bishop Deacon will give today’s sermon.” OR SHOULD IT BE “Deacon Bishop will give today’s sermon.”?

  2. I’m intrigued by a beautiful bird called a Bishop or Weaverbird. It weaves its basket-like nest using its beak and starts out with only one piece of plant fiber. The nest is elaborate and they are all not the same design. The male attracts females by hanging upside down from this beautiful nest. He calls and flutters his wings to attract the female. I’d like to see a male do that much to attract me. Imagine building a nest and then doing what he can to attract you to respond to his invitation.

  3. My maiden name was Bishop. For years I was very proud of it as a child is of her parents, in my case, most especially, my dad. In my teen years I heard family members talking about the fact that my dad’s “real” last name was not Bishop. My teenage grandmother met a young soldier and the inevitable happened. He had not intended to stay in the area, and tried to persuade her to come with him to his home state. She refused; he left, and she married Bishop, who adopted my dad. Not much more information was provided despite my pressing; I was always dismissed as a nosy teenager or with some comment that knowing that was enough. Over the years, I occasionally tried to find out more, but was similarly rebuffed. At the last Bishop Family Reunion (held at a state park) I was heading to the ladies room when several of my dad’s sisters decided they wanted to go, too. As we talked, an opportunity presented itself and I asked about my dad. They enlightened me about his origins, his relationship with Bishop (they called their dad that), but were unable to shed any light on where my father’s father might be. Whenever I hear the name Bishop, I still turn my head or think about family.

  4. Bishop is the neighbours’ cat who strolls into our backyard at least once a week. The name suits him well – he’s a magnificent beast with a luxurious black-and-white coat, always sleek and well-groomed. When he sits down, he has a majestic stillness about him, and you’re left wondering what strange intelligence is hiding behind those impassive yellow eyes.

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