This is what it will be like for the next several hours. She lets me know how when I’m too close, too cold or too far. Welcome to our van, a world where time is measured by muffled iPod music, an entire Goodwill store packed in the back and snacks.
Random thoughts scribbled on a paper napkin. In honor of today, I’ve managed to include plenty of vowels, consonants and predicates for you. But no subjects. I’m very much against subjects and pronouns.
Get this straight. Movies, books and other composition titles aren’t entitled to anything. They don’t have any rights. But still people use the [...]
Freeze the scene right there. Sometimes I wonder if I learned my parenting instincts from Homer Simpson University. Even with years of parenting experience, I still resort to my Crackerjack box of fatherhood theories.
It’s the one after No. 235, which says, “the dog really enjoys balancing on top of the microwave.”
He was mad at his breakfast, his brother, school, the piece of fabric on the floor and the neighbor’s dog down the street.
The sounds on his trombone were thick and rich, like you were listening to a jazz great in embryo. He was that good as a sophomore.
Before I put on the white shirt and tie for two years, I could barely talk to you without staring at the ground.
There’s no guarantee that somebody won’t be in a foul mood, that clean glass might have a four-day-old speck of gravy or the dog will make her bed in your suitcase.
You can all blame my high school social studies teacher Les Darling for getting me started.
This is the day I’m supposed to stop and look back in despair.
