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The Morning Ritual

The Morning Ritual

The morning ritual: Some pray. Some meditate. Some do yoga. Some exercise. My dad cleaned the kitchen. Often, he’d awaken me. Running water. Pots banging. Glasses clinking. The sound of a whisk broom against tile. Cabinets opening and closing. The sun always...

Drywall Repair as Teen Rebellion

One drawback of growing up with “creative” parents: Being rebellious is hard work. But I found a way. My dad thought most manual labor was below him. He was a musician, songwriter, playwright, and occasional vacuum-cleaner salesman (No lie: You do what you...
Fatherhood: Riding Bikes Together

Fatherhood: Riding Bikes Together

I had an essential experience of fatherhood yesterday. For the first time my son and I rode bicycles together. But the experience was oddly bittersweet.   My dad and I never rode together. I learned to ride a bike on my 7th birthday. Dad lifted the pre-assembled...
Shooting Pool with a Hooker

Shooting Pool with a Hooker

Well . . . I can’t be absolutely sure she was a hooker.     But really, any woman who gleefully, repeatedly shouts across a crowded bar “Today an old man gave me fifty bucks to eat my pussy!” should probably excuse one for thinking she...
Love and Bullets

Love and Bullets

Typical conversation around my house a few days a week:   Son: “Does an Uzi shoot .32’s?” Me: “I suppose you could get them rechambered for that, but stock they’re 9mm Luger–most of them. That’s close to a .38. Why would...