I’m in East Texas, visiting my parents with my younger son, C2. If all goes as planned, I will be telling my parents I’m gay sometime before I leave here on Wednesday afternoon. It has been too long coming and I’ve grown tired listening to my own fears and excuses.
And yet… Continue reading
When my younger son C2 was five, he had a knack for finding the quiet corners of our house for his creative play, and, mostly, we delighted in his creations. I grin to see him in memory… his eerily perfect imitation of a velociraptor (after watching the BBC documentary Dinosaurs a gazillion times), a Caped Crusader ferreting out the bad guys with wicked Bat moves, his penchant for catalogue clippings, particularly at Halloween when he cut out any ad donning a ghost or witch or jack-o-lantern and taped them all (and there were hundreds) to the outside of our house. But once in a while, his love of solitary play left us all a little perplexed and thoroughly depleted. Continue reading
It wasn’t the first such ad I’d gotten in the mail though perhaps the first I’d given more than an indignant glare and the standard rant of expletives. Was it the recent flood of ads from this industrial mammoth that gave me pause? The obscene sums of money dumped into a campaign of such obvious deception? Maybe the gnawing fear that such schemes must have their effects… or why bother? Continue reading
It is Memorial Day, 2014, and below I am re-posting a piece I wrote last summer in order to honor the sacrifice, courage, and service of Pvt Chelsea (Bradley) Manning. I’ve struggled with the appropriateness of re-posting my own writing, which seems particularly ingratiating with this piece, by far the most popular post on my blog–at least in terms of the number who read it. Continue reading
Inevitably we look upon society, so kind to you, so harsh to us, as an ill-fitting form that distorts the truth; deforms the mind; fetters the will. Virginia Woolf. Three Guineas, 1938.
Sing it with me everyone…“Schoooool’s OUT. FOR. SUMMER!” And although few teachers ever stop their preparations, the work, at least, takes on quieter dimensions that allow for other forms of play. For me, one of those is gardening. Continue reading