There’s no time like the past, Steven thought as he entered his time machine. He found himself in the maternity ward of a small rural hospital at 8 am on April 16, 1971—the day he was to be born . . .
Tag: Terrible Twosdays
Many years ago I read a collection of essays entitled: The Habit of Surviving: Black Woman’s Strategies For Life, by Kesho Yvonne Scott . . .
Meet my son, Nils, almost three. Yeah, he’s adorable. Naturally, he’s a genius. He’s a lovely, hilarious kid with a protective instinct and a painfully intense desire to please, his mood-antennae constantly quivering, something which my wife and I must always take care to not exploit . . .
“That boy Carlson is a liar and a rogue,” I tell my daughter Eve on a Saturday night, as she primps to leave for a house party in Brooklyn. “I wouldn’t go near that boy with a ten-foot pole . . .”
At the risk of coming off like a complete fucking asshole as usual, I would like to use this space to address a common misconception about parenthood . . .