Tag: life

My Father’s Hands

My first distinct memory of my father’s hands is from when I was six or seven years old. There wasn’t anything remarkable about them; five fingers each, no marks on the skin or anything like that.1 They were just his hands.

I had been playing with Legos and had gotten two small pieces stuck together so tightly that my little fingers could not get them separated again. I remember thinking at the time that my mother would be the better person to ask for help. I should say, it was not because moms solve everything and a dad’s only purpose is to be able to tell his child where mom is, as some internet memes might have you believe.2 No, it was much more practical than that. At that age, I understood that I needed something small to get between my two Lego pieces and my mom had something my dad did not: nails.  Continue reading “My Father’s Hands”

Dear S

Dear S,

I wrote a letter to you a few weeks ago, but that was before I knew you were you. It was before I knew you were a girl, for one thing, although your brother was adamant that he knew you were. It was also before I remembered what it was like to have an infant around. I had forgotten about doing my best to find things in the dark so I wouldn’t wake your mother up while I was changing your diaper in the middle of the night. I’d forgotten about the Zombie Parent Shuffle, the dance steps that exhausted parents do as they pace back and forth while trying to rock their newborns back to sleep. I’d forgotten how quickly dirty laundry adds up and how frequently newborns need their diapers to be changed (seriously, turn off the faucet, would you?).  Continue reading “Dear S”

A Letter to My Unborn Child

Dear… umm… Baby (I guess),

Well, that was an awkward start.

I wasn’t quite sure what to write there, as I’m sure you could tell. We have names picked out for you but we’re saving them for when we actually get to meet you. It also would have been just as awkward for me to write Dear Boy Name/Girl Name. I even considered writing Dear PTBNL, the acronym that Major League Baseball uses for a Player To Be Named Later, but it’s unwieldy and most people probably wouldn’t have recognized it right away anyway.1 In any event, I just went with Baby. That’s what you are, at this point anyway, so that’s what seems to fit the best.  Continue reading “A Letter to My Unborn Child”

Big Brother Short Stories

A friend of ours came over one evening last week. She is a long time friend of T’s and mine from our college days and she’s always had a sort of special relationship with each of us. As E has gotten older, he’s grown to love her as well. She can match his energy and enthusiasm on a consistent basis, which us a big reason for his affection for her. The other reason is that she’s never afraid to get down to his level, whether they’re doing puzzles or dancing or fighting with light-sabers.

As we sat down to eat dinner, E started telling the three of us something that I can’t remember, although it was clearly very important to him at the time. Continue reading “Big Brother Short Stories”

Writing My Legacy

During the 1995-1996 NBA season, the Chicago Bulls – my Chicago Bulls – dominated the league. They won 72 games out of an 82-game season and lost only three times in the playoffs, beating the Seattle Supersonics in six games to clinch the first of their second set of three championships in a row. That team is considered, if not the best team of all time, at least one of the top two or three, as arguments can be made for the ’86 Celtics or maybe one of those early ’80s Lakers teams.1 The Bulls were led by Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen and Dennis Rodman, as well as one of the strongest supporting casts ever behind sharpshooters Toni Kukoc and Steve Kerr (more about him in a minute) and the versatile Ron Harper.  Continue reading “Writing My Legacy”

The Times, They Are A-Changin’

I was having a conversation with E the other day when I realized it.

I don’t even remember what we were talking about. It could have been about something that happened at school or one of his new favorite television show characters or our upcoming move to a new apartment.1 It could have been about his train tracks or his stuffed animals or about him singing one of his two new favorite songs, Etz Chayim (The Tree of Life) and The Beatles’ “Love Me Do.”

The truth is that it doesn’t really matter what we were talking about.  Continue reading “The Times, They Are A-Changin’”

No Better Feeling

I got to hold a baby the other day.

I don’t just mean a young child. E is three and a half and still gets referred to as “the baby” sometimes. That’s not what I mean. I mean a baby, barely a week and a half old on the day when I met him. He was a floppy mush of skin and hair with the tiniest little mouth that seemed to open twice as wide when he needed to yawn. His father brought him into the room, holding the baby in his forearm in a perfect football grip, and gently laid him into my arms.

I laughed and said, “Jesus, I forgot how small they are when they’re born.”  Continue reading “No Better Feeling”

In Defense of Pet Owners

My family had a cat when I was very young. It was a ginger tabby by color but it was a stray that my parents took in, so I’m not really sure what breed it was. My parents named it Rambam, after the famous rabbi and doctor of the Middle Ages, Maimonides.1 Ginger tabbies apparently have a reputation for being easy-going but that didn’t apply to Rambam. My parents were always very clear with anyone who would come to our house that they should leave the cat alone because he had a habit of biting strangers. Rambam would lie on his back on the stairs, the upper half of his body hanging off the side, leaving his belly exposed so that people would try to rub it. Then, when they did, he would nip at their hands and arms. (He was devious like that.)  Continue reading “In Defense of Pet Owners”

Under Better Circumstances

They say you can never go home again.

I suppose that’s true; just as you can never step into the same river twice, because the water is constantly moving, home will be different every time you come back. The people may be the same, or at least appear to be, but they are moving too. They are thinking, growing, spreading their wings. They are separating, searching for their own identities, their own callings. They’re coping, looking for handholds along the way, just as you are. Just as we all are. The people look the same, but they aren’t. And neither are you.  Continue reading “Under Better Circumstances”

Searching for Wisdom

My English teacher in my junior year of high school, Dr. Beller, looked like he had walked straight out of a Jack Kerouac novel. He was short, overweight and wore light brown glasses with thin frames. His skin had the leathery look of too much sun and cigarettes, but his eyes were soft and kind and they had a mischievous quality to them when he smiled. His voice was also gentle, with a slight gravelly tone to it and the hair he had left was always a little bit out of place.

Dr. Beller had been a college professor for most of his career as an educator before he came to my school. My junior year was his first year as a high school teacher and he had a bit of a rocky start.  Continue reading “Searching for Wisdom”

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