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Fathersexpand_moreA psychologist told me we can train our dreams. I practice each night.
There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
They all pivoted to face us, tan mannequins on a conveyor belt.
Rebecca Lehmann
In the many pages of the book of love this is only one story.
Not all his children love themselves. Look at little Adrienne.
The world seemed newly made and filled with a frightening silence.
A boy knew he wouldn’t see his mother’s face as he rose from the mat.
The draft of ten handwritten pages would have to be cut back to five.
The sense all along has been that there’s some madness in her.
When the population was whiter, they fawned over the Korean.
“You’re great with people. Ever since you got over the drooling problem.”
“No, no,” we say. “We’re fine! Really! We love things just the way they are!”
Today the game was to try to catch one of the cats in a pillowcase.
I remember speaking to Allison who asked me if I wanted to be a girl.
What I really meant to say is that I am tired. Beauty can demand so much.
The door opened, and Dan stormed in, shouting, “Motherfuckers!”
The boy had never before seen his father hopeless. He was afraid.
I was only five when Dad told me I had died. “You drowned,” he said.
Rain falls steadily, rattling down drainpipes and gurgling into gutters.
“Wanna give it a go?” my brother asks, nudging me with his 12-gauge.
Amy put her arm around his shoulders. My boy. Isn’t he wonderful?
His eyes always astonish her. Iridescent blue, flecked with black. Her husband was gone, two years later than she should’ve thrown him out.
The guy from the funeral home can’t get the gurney into the house.
We need to stop talking about it, we need to put some pants on.
Lori & Garry Marshall
The Others came in the light of day and splayed Father open.
there is no place on this earth I can run from my own prejudice
When you write the story of being a father don’t leave out the joy.
Lydda, when she closes her eyes, has traded one war zone for another.
