“Daddy, daddy, I won an iPhone 5!” she said as she ran into my office. “I was on this website, and something popped up that said that I won! Me!” And thus began the deliberate chopping away at the legs of childhood enthusiasm and naiveté. I explained to my nine-year-old how there are some bad people in the world who only want to glean personal information to sell to other people and companies. Her bottom lip quivered and tears bubbled…
I took Cozette to Target for a watch on Friday. She picked one that’s mostly rubber and mostly white, but for some salmon highlights around the face. It’s digital. I tried to convince her to get a watch with hands, but she wanted none of that. At first I was like, ‘Child, you’re getting a watch with a face and hands so that you can learn to tell time the traditional way because…’ and then I stopped. Who am I…
There’s a lot that I don’t understand about the idea of religion. I was raised Southern Baptist. We were big Jesus people – the red letters in the bible were always the most important. But I didn’t understand most of it and would ask questions that adults did not have answers for. They’d just say, “That’s how it is.” and “You’ve just got to believe.” and “Because it’s in the bible.” It was confusing. I mean, I believed that God…
I used to know a guy named Bump. He was a metal worker in my dad’s sheet metal shop. Bump was more country than anyone I’d ever known. He was missing the distal phalanges on every finger of his left hand, but it didn’t matter; he wielded a welding torch as well as anyone, but preferred wielding a fishing rod. Dude could fish. Bump had shoulder-length sandy blond hair with an uneven, permanent scruff on his face. He always wore…
In 2001 I became a parent. I chose to become a parent. But like everyone else who is a parent for the first time, I wasn’t sure whether I could raise good humans. I still don’t. I have to be honest, I didn’t even really like kids before we had our first one. But then we did, and I fell in love with the job. And yes, I’ve messed up as a parent. A lot. Almost every day, in fact…
This purpose of this post is to publicly announce that I’m finished with shaking hands as a cultural device. I’ve given it up for the fist bump. No, I’m not doing it because of President Obama. Well, I mean yes, his popular use of the technique helps make it a little less awkward, but I’m not doing it because of him. I’m doing it because as a species we’re fallible, and shaking hands only expedites this fallibility. Our hands are…
