Dear Journal, I’ve never been the kind of person who sits out on the porch, nodding to people as they pass, just sprawled out in my uncomfortable wicker chair pretending to be comfortable. Or the guy who does in fact get comfortable out there as the sun rises high in the distant sky and falls … Continue reading Dear Journal: Porch Sitting
The guy across the street died four months ago, and I had no idea whatsoever until this past Saturday. I guess it’s a testament to the insular world I live, I guess. But nevertheless I was shocked when I went by his house, didn’t see his car, and my wife told me he had died … Continue reading The Guy Across the Street
As a society we tend to use friends like dinnerware. Some are good for parties, while others fit at sit-down dinners. Some are fancy for holidays while others are paper and plastic. And best friends, where have they gone? In a world where everyone is apparently your BFF, does that mean no one is your … Continue reading No Real Best Friends
As she gets older, Lexi has decided she wants to be more like us, not that she wants to copy us, but that she admires what we do. In an essay she wrote for school she talked about how exciting it would be to be a librarian (like her mother). Then she has been talking about getting more songs on her iPod — Bruno Mars, Ne-Yo, and other popular singers — instead of just the KidzBop songs that used to populate her musical world, which is reminiscent of me and my love of different types of music. She even keeps asking me about when we’ll be able to get out and play some tennis since she knows its an important sport to me, and she wants to have that connection with me.
While it’s exciting to watch her grow older and discover more aspects of herself that she wants to explore, it’s also a little sad that the little girl who loved her stuffed rabbit and dog so much is gone, replaced by a young lady who sounds more and more like us, but also more and more like a future version of herself every day. But I’m embracing it because that’s what should happen. In the bath last night, she showed me more of that young woman she’s growing up to be, when she chatted with me about my number one passion: writing.
Lexi: Dad, how do I get to be a writer?
Me: You just write.
Lexi: No! I mean like you. I want to write a book.
Me: That takes a lot of hard work and commitment.
Lexi: Well, not exactly like you. I mean, I want it to be for, like, a 7-year old.
Me: It still takes a lot to write any book, even one for younger kids.
Lexi: How come?
Me: Because you have to keep in mind the age group, the words they should know and ones they won’t.
Lexi: So, if I just think about words I know, it will be okay for 7-year olds?
Me: It depends on the kid, but your editor will be able to help you figure that out.
Lexi: But I want to write it this weekend. I don’t have an editor.
Me: Lex, it’s not going to go that quickly, to get a book written in a couple of days and just publish it.
Lexi: Why not? I already have a lot of good ideas. Continue reading “Chatting With Lexi: On Writing”
“Now ain’t nobody tell us it was fair. No love from my daddy ’cause the coward wasn’t there. He passed away and I didn’t cry, ’cause my anger wouldn’t let me feel for a stranger.” -2Pac, Dear Mama
Mothers are the singularly most amazing human beings on the planet. They give more of themselves than it seems possible to give,and then they give some more. So often a mother’s job is never done, because to her it is so much more than merely a job. It’s a calling. When her child screams out in the night, a mother’s ears are tuned to pick up on it and respond, even before she herself is awake. A mother seems like she’s in all places at the same time because she often has to be in order to take care of her myriad responsibilities.
A mother doesn’t complain, though, not even when she isn’t appreciated, because she knows complaining doesn’t get things done, and she has no time for excuses. But one thing a mother can never do is be a father, and that’s okay.
For the most part, I grew up in a single-parent home. My father was never around, but even when he was his mind was elsewhere. I had probably five, maybe six, solid, concrete moments with him when I was younger when he made a positive impression on me, but I have a plethora of those type of memories featuring my mother. I just saw her this weekend, and it’s amazing to me how fresh those memories still are, and how we continue to make those memories no matter how old I get. The bond between a mother and her children should be an enduring one, and it often is, but can it make up for the absence of a father?
I hear so many people extoll the virtues of single mothers by saying, “She was both a mother and a father to me.” But that can’t be true, can it? Expecting a mother to be a father is like asking an Irish man to be Chinese. That’s because we need different things from each parent, and while many of us make it through childhood just fine without a father, it doesn’t lessen the yearning for one, or fill the hole caused by his absence. Continue reading “Why Mom Can’t Be Dad (and why that’s okay)”
We drove up to the Dunkin Donuts in Upper Darby this morning, desperately seeking doughnuts for the children and a coffee for me. I’m just not operating fully if I don’t have some caffeine in me at some point during the day. Outside the shop were several teenagers lounging and smoking, looking like they had just rolled out of bed, even though I’m sure school was already in session at that point. They had no intention of entering the place, instead preferring to use the grass out front as a hangout spot for delinquents.
A young girl was standing in the doorway.
“Excuse me,” I said to her as I opened the door wider to get past.
“You excused,” she responded, not moving one inch, but we somehow made it by her anyway.
Welcome to Philadelphia.
The floors were sticky, like they had just been mopped by by filthy water that only put more grit on the floor instead of taking it off. We stepped carefully while inside, as we made our way to the counter. Two ladies were working back there, doing a complicated dance that they should have made look simple but didn’t. One was manning the drive-thru, which I had noticed outside was five cars deep, and the other was in charge of helping customers in the actual store. There were two of us.
“I would like a coffee, please,” I told the lady when she stopped long enough to listen. “Cream and sugar.”
“What size you want?” she asked without looking at me.
“I guess I’ll take a large,” I said, having not thought it out beforehand, only knowing I needed caffeine.
“You want a medium?” she responded, as if I hadn’t said a thing.
“Suuuure. I’ll take a medium,” I told her, looking over at my wife to see if she had heard the exchange. She was rolling her eyes, and I realized I was too. I mean, seriously? The lady ended up making me a medium coffee, but at least it had cream and sugar in it. Continue reading “@ Dunkin Donuts”
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Soprano
A Writer's Journey
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Exploring life, love, lifting, and (almost) literally everything else, frequently aided by laughter and libations
Just a small town girl who writes about Christian stuff.
Strategic freelance writer specializing in online content, articles, web copy, & SEO.
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
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