My son is not much of a talker. When he crosses the street from his bus, he rarely looks at me. He does not say hello. I want details about his entire day: a little moment that made him sad, or when he felt proud or embarrassed or angry. But nope. Nothing like that....
Read More
Here’s a composite memory: I am five, eight, twelve, sixteen years old. I’ve sassed my mother, or lied to my father. I’ve ruined a new dress, stayed out too late, misbehaved in church, or ignored my chores. I’ve failed in some way, trivial or terrible, and I’ve been caught. But the most painful part of the memory is not the discovery. It’s what happens after I’m caught, after I apologize, after I’m punished and sent to my room. The darkest part is the shame....
Read More
These days we communicate via cell phone, email, texting, Facebook, Twitter, Skype and who knows what else. Regardless where our children roam, we expect to be able to stay in touch with them. Some of us live under the illusion that because we are able to reach our children, we somehow can keep them safe.This was not true in the 1980’s when my brother-in-law, Richard, was in college and an ornithologist-in-training. ...
Read More