AuthorTeevee

HELL NO was my immediate response. Of course.

I was on my way home for the day when the call came in. Shutting down my computer. Logging out. Keys in hand. Then the phone rang.

Most of our art and life is about love.

The desire. The connection. The loss.

A couple of years ago I was eager to tell my parents I was getting married.

She could've gone younger.
She could've gone somewhere with more zeros.
She could've gone easier.

Every culture had access to their own ingredients, their own instruments, their own materials.

Adults still struggle with it.

Screaming "be grateful" at a kid doesn't work.

Ran, played, yelled as little boys.

We were children until
we weren't.

For years, I struggled with my daughters having a stepfather.

Not his fault. He didn't do anything wrong.

I went in for the bro hug. Bro was like: Damn. Your pecs are firm. Hey now... you noticed?

I peaked in 3rd grade.

I've been trying to get back to that place ever since. No luck.

I peaked in 3rd grade.

I've been trying to get back to that place ever since. No luck.

I was reminded that I have always been a writer and a poet.

Life stacked in on top of them, decade by decade. I forgot who I was underneath all of it.