“We are going to Hyde Park to see King Lear,” Brandon said. Turns out he said High Park. Which is where we sat, perched high on a hill overlooking the outdoor stage at High Park in north Toronto. My expectations … Continue reading Toronto journal 4: King Lear and the Subterranean Underground
We celebrated our parents sixtieth wedding anniversary the day after Thanksgiving and while taking family pictures in the church sanctuary at the Dewey Church, I saw light emanating from the holy of holies, the door leading to the inner room where some of my family changed into baptismal garments before being immersed in living water. As children, we were not allowed to venture into this mysterious hallway. My brothers and I walked to the open door and peered inside, to see what mischief our college and high school age sons were finding in the mysterious hallway leading to the baptistery. … Continue reading Sixty Years on a Chalkboard
I once saw a list of things Dad’s should teach their sons. How to balance a checking account, how to ask a girl out, how to change a tire, and so on. But as I think about my failure to teach my son these skills, I realize how much nurturing help I’ve had. Saturday I was playing golf with a group of Dads who have met annually since October 4, 1997, when we prayed prostrate under the shadow of the Washington Monument at a Promise Keepers rally along with half a million other men gathered near the Capitol of our … Continue reading Watching Our Autumn Sons
One of my best friends has a son who works at J.Crew. My son has a summer job driving the trash truck to the dump and he shops at Goodwill. But I think I’ve figured it out. It’s genetic. The why I mean. The why of why I dressed like an idiot until buying a few suits and working as a CPA at the age of twenty-eight. Before then I was like Steven Wright in his story of meeting a beautiful girl at the department store, “I met this wonderful girl at Macy’s. She was buying clothes and I was … Continue reading Why My Son Doesn’t Look Like Cary Grant
Did Richard Sherman of the Seattle Seahawks offer a sincere handshake to Michael Crabtree in the heat of the moment and was his comment, “Hell of a game, hell of a game!”, real? Only Richard Sherman can answer that. He seems like a nice guy, postgame rant notwithstanding. It did make me think that youngsters take their cues from the best players in the world and that my son and nephews and cousins all play ball, and that they watch these interviews and on-field behaviors. My son wasn’t a star, he didn’t always get to play a lot, but I … Continue reading The Touchdown Bunny Hop and Thoughts on Richard Sherman
