One morning, just out of my teens, in the back bedroom of a two-bedroom duplex in South Carolina’s “Low Country,” I found my dad, dead, on the floor by his bed. To this date there are but two things I don’t like to talk about, often, my own health, and the death of my father.(…)
Despite the sheer awesomeness of all of the Family-Friendly events that we’ve attended with SF Dads Group, lately, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t super stoked to be attending this one, sans kids!
I want to tell you about a moment that happened a few weeks back. When the hotel’s elevator doors suck shut and the telltale bell-tone sounds its ascent, I finally feel that solitude that I’ve come to know, so often, back home. It’s a strange sort of alone. An isolation I can sometimes find solace(…)
(Bonus: Guest interview of Super Bowl champ Kevin Butler by Chris Bernholdt of “Banish The Playdate.” Fame.) Football is dominating the news these days and needless to say, it’s not all good.
(Bonus: Video!) Remember once upon a last April when I wrote this, apparently, “illmatic” attack on the rap industry? What I intended as more of a creative treatment of a wholly personal parenting decision in the form of a break-up letter, for the sake of my young daughters, caught a bit of fire when The(…)
One of the other dads bends down to hear my daughter over the band’s acoustic euphony. She blurts out her excitement, her phone chord curls bouncing in time with the beat. “{{I have magic in my hands and I can touch the walls and turn them different colors but ACTually the magic is in my(…)
My almost-four-year-old knows we are in a drought. At least she has heard me say it enough times that the term itself has started to register. “Turn off that hose, we are in a drought!” “No, I’m not going to fill the tub for you again, baby, California is in a drought.” But, as all(…)
Dear Aaron, Unsolicited parenting pearls are like rashy asses
Since starting this blog in February, my three year old daughter and I have been given opportunities to embark on adventures
J and I are lying about on the floor. I’m stroking her head with a wet cloth and she is looking up appreciatively through those tell-tale, droopy eyes. She has fallen feverish and I’ve just gone through the ritual call to the advice nurse and been told to hang tight and watch for A, B, or C to happen in the coming days. Same old story. Call us when she’s 104. They never share a father’s sense of urgency.
For some reason I tell J. about a friend of mine who found out he was sick about a month ago, and not the kind of sick that a cold compress and a Pedialyte popsicle can do much for.
Oren has stage four cancer