Watching that Last Late Show with My Father
My father left when I was 6 years old. The age my son is now. I don't remember my father leaving. I…
Read More →My father left when I was 6 years old. The age my son is now. I don't remember my father leaving. I…
Read More →I cannot wait to listen as she puts her head on my shoulder and recounts the entire Technicolor evening of dance --…
Read More →The conversation started over breakfast, a thread to a tangent passed with pepper and more coffee. It stuck like syrup in a…
Read More →My son is obsessed with winning in sports. I wonder if he is too competitive, and what kind of child are my…
Read More →There’s no secret formula to forming those traditions – at least none I’m aware of. Well, repetition seems like a needed ingredient.
Read More →The end of that old camper is a beginning for that journal I found in it. It shows me a past where…
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