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I was rushing from work, clomping black oxfords down the sidewalk towards the subway. The day was not unlike the rest of my week where all hell had broken loose, where casual Friday was anything but casual. I scurried down the escalator into the passage under the street, through the turnstiles and another escalator to the platform. It was only a few minutes after five, I might still get a seat on the train. I whipped out my trusty companion—the company BlackBerry—to kill the 5 ½ minute ride to the train station. I thumbed through my calendar and at the top of May 25 was a reminder—Monthly Home Visit from Social Worker. For a few hours I had forgotten about him. Read the rest of this entry »
In the midst of grief there is always a job to do. In divorce there are legal issues and settlement and visitation. In death, the affairs of a person’s life must be put in order; personal effects must be handled. In reunification there are also those things—the needful. We’ve done a lot of the hard stuff: preparing him as much as is possible with a four-year old; figuring out what things to send with him; and finally transporting the little guy and his possessions to his new life. Now comes the rest.
I’m no activist—certainly not the kind to lay down in the middle of the street to be carried off by the police. I applaud those who are, those whose courage and tenacity in acts of civil disobedience have furthered causes for which there would not otherwise be a voice. I find myself instead as the quiet protestor—the guy who simply by his existence, without saying a word, takes a stance against the disease of ignorance and homophobia in his daily life. Read the rest of this entry »
What shall we receive in our little orange plastic ubiquitous pumpkin this year? There might be a candy bar, could be some sort of gummy somethings, maybe a mini bag o’pretzels, then again maybe we’ll get a rock. It all depends on whether the whack-a-doodle three-year old will freak out on us on the sidewalk, in full costume, in the dark, in front of all our neighbors. We had no idea what to expect. Read the rest of this entry »
My son is not like me
He is brown, I am not
We are not alike that way
We stand in the mirror together with our difference
Sometimes it’s hard to seex
“Why Lucas?” That was what one of my family members asked me recently while on a visit back home. I had to think back six months and try to remember. It seems like it was a long process though I’m not sure why. How hard is it to pick a name for your kid? If memory serves, it turns out really hard. Read the rest of this entry »
At almost two months old, he is irresistible. As I look down at that face, I can’t help myself. I make silly noises hoping that he responds. He does more frequently now. He seems to know my voice—at least he has become familiar with it. I am the bearer of food, of kisses, the over-squeezing-cuddling-pappa-love. Read the rest of this entry »