What do you want inscribed on your gravestone?

The Moth recently asked what you would like inscribed on your gravestone when you die in conjunction with a Main Stage show in Brooklyn’s Greenwood Cemetery.

Since I have no intention of ever dying, this was more of a thought experiment than a real world exercise, but still, it was interesting to imagine what words might suit me the most.

After much thought, here is what I’ve decided upon:

Death is hardest on the dead.
Don’t believe me? Ask yourself this:
Who would you rather be?
You, reading this gravestone, or me, buried beneath your feet?
Death is hard on everyone, but it’s hardest on the dead.
Weep for me.
Read my books.
They are my feeble attempts at immortality.

I’m going to need a large stone.

John Lennon’s “Imagine” is not a good song. I think you’ll agree.

I don’t like the song “Imagine.”

I know. For many of you, this is blasphemy. For years, I loved the song. Sang it whenever it came on.

Then I was driving in the car last week when “Imagine” came on Pandora. As I sang along, I thought about the lyrics in a way I never have before.

I thought critically.

When it was finished, I kind of hated the song, and justifiably so.

I think you’ll agree, unless you’re one of those annoying, “Yeah, I know the song ‘Gold Digger’ is demeaning to women, but I like the beat, so I want it played at my wedding anyway” people.  

The lyrics, with my commentary:
________________________

Imagine there is no heaven
It's easy if you try (a fairly presumptuous statement at best)
No hell below us
Above us only sky (again, he’s assuming a lot)

Imagine all the people
Living for today (a nice thought until it’s tomorrow and everyone is hungry and cold)

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do (borderline rude for those who find this hard)
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too

Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one (the fact that others suffer from similar delusions is not a valid argument)
I hope someday you will join us
And the world will be as one (does this whole stanza strike anyone else as drifting into Jim Jones territory?)

Imagine no possessions (communist)
I wonder if you can (now you wonder? after telling me how easy it is to imagine no heaven, no hell, no countries, and no religion, you wonder about my ability to imagine this?) 
No need for greed or hunger (there has never been a need for hunger)
A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You, you may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you will join us
And the world will live as one

Lucky Nani

Luckier grandchildren.

 

The solution to all of my ponytail, pigtail, and braiding woes

Other than simple brushing, I can do nothing with my daughter’s hair. I can’t braid it. I can’t pin it back with a barrette. I can’t wrap it in a ponytail.

These pigtails might at well be the Mona Lisa to me. Impossible to comprehend. Impossible to reproduce.

For at least a year, I couldn’t even get all of the soap out of her hair when I bathed her. My wife had to return her to the bathtub on multiple occasions to finish the job.

Even worse, I can’t remove any of the elastics from her hair at the end of the day without causing pain and suffering.

I watch my wife do things with her hair in the same way I would watch a Harlem Globetrotter manipulate a basketball.

Then along comes this man, with a solution to all my problems, as long as my wife and my daughter are willing to go along with it.

Friendly’s slogans leave a lot to be desired

A list of slogans from Friendly’s restaurants from over the years:

• "You're in for a nice surprise" (1979–1982)
• "There's no place like home" (1985–1989)
• "Oh, that looks good!" (2010–2013)
• "High 5, it's Friendly's!" (2011-2012)
• "Oh yeah!" (2012-2013)
• "Where ice cream makes the meal" (current)

Damn. That is not a good list.

“You’re in for a nice surprise.” Not exactly encouraging. “You thought this meal was going to suck, but really, it’s won’t. You’ll be surprised.”

“Oh, that looks good!” Again, not a confident declaration. More of a reversal of expectations. “You think your cheeseburger will look like a greasy sponge, but no, it actually looks like a cheeseburger!”  

“Oh yeah!” They paid someone to come up with that slogan? I’m no even sure how you would include this in ad copy.

“There’s no place like home.” I hope the company didn’t hire an advertising agency to come up with a phrase that existed long before The Wizard of Oz made millions from it. “Yes, it’s a cliché. It may be one of the greatest clichés of all time, and I don’t mean great in a good way. But it worked for the girl with the red slippers, so maybe it will work for us.”

No wonder the company had to be rescued from bankruptcy.

You’ll be shocked to discover who favors old fashioned ink and paper over digital composition

I’ve been teaching writing to students ages 12-16 for the past three weeks. Seven students in all. Every one of them is an excellent writer. A couple are legitimately gifted.

Two surprises:

1. Five of my students write with a paper and pen and couldn’t imagine writing on a computer or tablet, at least for their first draft. Only one writes exclusively on a laptop (and she writes primarily for the Internet), and the other switches between pen-and-paper and her phone.
2. A different five read almost exclusively from old fashioned books. Paper and ink. One reads exclusively on a tablet. The last switches between formats.

I was stunned when I saw these teenagers scribbling in journals and flipping through through pages. It’s not what I expected.

A month ago, I was walking down a long line of people waiting to attend a Moth StorySLAM in NYC, and I was both surprised and pleased with the number of people standing in line, passing the time by reading ink and paper books.

Could this be a sign that people are seeking a greater balance between digital and analog?

I hope so. 

She can't fly, which would be cool, but my daughter's super power is still impressive.

My daughter made her own mask from paper, tape, marker, and string. I’m not sure what she was going for, but I think she looks legitimately creepy when wearing it.

I asked her if she is a superhero when wearing the mask. Her response:

“Daddy, you know me. I’m just Clara. But that’s pretty great, too.”

Even better than a superhero.

Unless she could fly and stuff. That would be better, but still.

Sister loves brother

I am certain that I was never as sweet to my siblings. Not even close.

I’m not sure if I was even nice to my siblings.

Thank goodness Elysha’s genes are in the mix.

   

I don’t love bathing my kids. Except I often do.

I am not a huge fan of bathing the kids. I don’t mind shampooing their hair, and I don’t mind scrubbing their feet, but once the actual work is done and the playing commences, I become much less interested in the bath.

Perhaps it’s because of the way my dictatorial daughter demands that I play with her bath toys, elevating her preferred princesses over my second-rate charlatans and placing their words in my mouth to repeat again and again. 

Or maybe it’s the way I am forced to sit on the floor at the base of the tub and get drenched with bathwater as we play.

Or maybe it’s the sheer frequency of the baths. When I was growing up, we took baths once a week. In accordance with my wife’s wishes, my children are bathed every other day or so.

Whatever the reason, bathing is one of those things that I know I will miss when my children are bathing themselves, but it’s also something I really don’t enjoy very much.

Until I see moments like this.

  

As a parent, I have discovered that as important as my happiness may be, my children’s happiness often supersedes my own, and their happiness almost always results in my happiness.

I know this sounds like a fairly obvious statement, but this was not something I understood or perhaps really believed until I had children.

Even the stupid bath, with its stupid toys, is pretty fantastic when my kids are enjoying themselves.

My annual list of my shortcomings and flaws is being written now. Suggestions welcomed.

In preparation for the fourth annual listing and publishing of my shortcomings and flaws, I invite you to write to me about any shortcomings or flaws that you think I should consider including on the list.

If you’re wondering why a person would create such a list and post it online, you can read about the origin of this tradition here. It may not surprise you to discover that the tradition began via a confrontation with a reader.

Also, if you’d like to look at last year’s list, which I will be reviewing to determine if any items can be removed, you can find that here. Suggestions of items to remove are also welcome, though that tends not to happen.

Thanks so much for the help.

Boy learns the alphabet on his own. Father takes credit.

So apparently the combination of the letters on the refrigerator and an amazing iPad app have taught my two year-old son to identify almost all of the capital and lower case letters of the alphabet.

While getting him ready for bed, he began randomly calling out the letters on a pillow in his room.

My wife couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. We had no idea. We had done nothing to teach him his letters so far.

We didn’t even know that he was aware of the existence of letters. 

It turns out that Charlie can name every letter if we point to it, and he can locate every letter if we name it first.

The boy essentially learned the entire alphabet (and many of the sounds that the letters make) on his own.

We must be amazing parents.

Future Futurist. Actually, current futurist, looking for his first paycheck.

In the program for my most recent Moth GrandSLAM performance, my bio mentioned that I am a Lord of Sealand, which is true and garnered many comments from friends and audience members. It also mentioned that I am a teacher, writer, minister, life coach, professional public speaker, and wedding DJ.

I collect jobs.

In addition to those listed above, I’ve expressed interest in becoming a unaccredited sociologist, a stand-up comedian, a professional best man (five grooms and a reality show developer have tried to hire me for this position so far), a gravesite visitor, and a double date companion.

Today I find myself with a new career aspiration: Futurist.

A futurist is “a person who studies the future and makes predictions about it based on current trends.” Well known futurists in the United States include Ray Kurzweil, Alvin Toffler and Syd Mead.

image

I think I could do this. For a few reasons.

First, it doesn’t require accreditation of any kind.

Though the Association of Professional Futurists states that some futurists begin their careers by earning a graduate degree in futures studies, “many professionals become futurists by acquainting themselves with futures concepts, tools and methods, familiarizing themselves with the literature, apprenticing or collaborating with professional futurists, and participating in futures professional development, conferences, and organizations.”

I can do that. I can acquaint myself with future concepts and familiarize myself with literature. I could attend a futurist conference (if one was ever to come to town) and even join the Association of Professional Futurists if I wanted to spend the $150.

Second, and more importantly, no agency is currently responsible for keeping track of a futurist’s accuracy. A futurist could be batting well below the Mendoza line and no one would know it.

I have enough accountability in my life already. The idea of a profession which demands no accountability of any kind appeals to me greatly.

Best of all, I think I would be quite effective at predicting future trends, particularly because no one will be checking to see otherwise. 

With all this in mind, I officially declare myself a futurist. I’m adding it to my list of occupations. Squeezing it into my bio. Looking for someone who wants to hire me and turn this futurist into a professional futurist. 

Here are my first five predictions as a futurist:

1. Physical books are far from dead. In the next decade, physical books will experience a resurgence as people seek a greater balance between the digital and the physical.

2. Within ten years (and possibly sooner), the great majority of American politicians, both Republican and Democrat, will acknowledge the dangers of global warming and begin to act in concert to address this issue.

3. The growing concerns over concussions and their long-term effects will do nothing to deter the continued growth of the National Football League into the foreseeable future.

4. Movie studios will produce high quality, made-for-television movies within the next decade.

5. Portable, highly accurate universal translators will eliminate the language barrier to communication.

What were the three most important decisions of your life?

A recent Quora question asked, “What were the three most important decisions of your life?”

I’ve been debating this question for almost a month, and I have finally settled on three. While many decisions could have occupied these three spots, I decided to favor the toughest and most unlikely decisions of my life rather than the ones that were easy and obvious.

For example, deciding to marry Elysha is probably the most important decision of my life, but it was barely a decision. Who wouldn’t want to marry Elysha if given the chance? It was a no-brainer.

Instead, I found three extremely important decisions in my life that could have gone either way and changed the course of my life forever.

1. Maintaining my innocence when charged with grand larceny and embezzlement.

While being questioned about a crime that I did not commit, the police almost had me convinced to confess to the crime rather than risk a lengthy prison sentence. I spent a minute in a mop closet pondering that decision and ultimately decided to stick to the truth, but it was a close call. The police can apply a great deal of pressure in these moments, particularly when you are a 19 year-old kid without any parents, any money or an attorney.

The result was a brief period of homelessness, 18 months spent working 80 hours a week at two different jobs in order to pay a $25,000 attorney’s bill, a permanent case of post traumatic stress disorder as a result of an armed robbery, and a trial where I was found not guilty.

Had I confessed and accepted their plea deal, I could not have become a teacher. 

2. Choosing West Hartford Public Schools over Newington Public Schools.

In the summer of 1999, my hometown of Newington, CT had offered me a permanent position as third grade teacher in one of their elementary schools. I was asked for a day to consider their offer, but the wait time was merely perfunctory. I was taking the job.

During that 24 hour period, I received a call from a principal in West Hartford requesting an interview. Out of curiosity more than anything else, I agreed to speak to him that day. Three hours later, he had offered me a one year position covering a second grade teacher on maternity leave.

The permanent position in Newington would have been the wise and sensible choice. It was in my hometown and would provide me with long-term stability in a time when teaching jobs were hard to find. But I was impressed by the principal, his commitment to children, and his support for the arts. After much debate, I decided upon the one year position in West Hartford, and 16 years later, I am still teaching in the same school.

 

That decision changed my life. I met my wife while teaching at that school school. I met five of my closest friends while teaching, including the principal, who has since retired but remains one of my closest friends today. I met my son’s and daughter’s god parents while teaching at that school. Many of my former students are my children’s favorite babysitters, and one of my first students is our primary babysitter and like a member of the family.

I was given the freedom to create a classroom environment that placed reading, writing, and theater at its core, and I have developed a teaching philosophy that has led to much success in my field. I was named Teacher of the Year in West Hartford and was a finalist for Connecticut Teacher of the Year.

I started playing golf, a game that I love beyond all others, thanks to the friends I met at that school, and ultimately wrote a book about it. 

The school’s community, teachers, students, and parents, have become a second family to me. When my job and my future were threatened several years ago, they rallied around me in ways I could have never expected.

3. Saying yes when my best friend asked me to start a wedding DJ company with him.

In 1997, I was attending Trinity College and Saint Joseph's University fulltime, working on degrees in both English and elementary education. I was also managing a McDonald’s restaurant fulltime and tutoring students part-time at the college’s writing center. I was writing for the college’s newspaper. I was the Treasurer of the Student Senate.

I was busier than I had ever been in my life.

Then Bengi called and asked if I wanted to be a wedding DJ, even though we had no experience or equipment or knowledge of the industry, and I said yes.

Seventeen years later, we remain in business. I have entertained at more than 400 weddings in that time. The DJ company has provided me with much needed income through the lean times of my life.

I met one of my best friends while working as the DJ at his wedding, and that friendship has led to me becoming a Patriots season ticket holder. That same friend led me back into writing when I had given up hope on ever becoming a novelist and professional writer.

I would not have a writing career today had it not been for him. 

I unknowingly gained 17 years of public speaking experience, which allowed me to step into the world of storytelling and public speaking three years ago with unexpected ease and success. I won my first Moth StorySLAM in large part to the experience I gained as a DJ.

I have since competed in 24 Moth StorySLAMs in New York and Boston and won 12 of them. I’ve told stories for Main Stage shows and GrandSLAM championships and many other storytelling organizations in New York, Boston and Hartford. I would not be the storyteller and speaker I am today had I not worked for almost two decades as a wedding DJ.

 

Telling stories for The Moth led to the founding of Speak Up, the Hartford-based storytelling organization that my wife and I founded last year. In a little over a year, we have produced eight sell out shows, launched a series of storytelling workshops, and have now been approached by outside venues, asking us to take our show on the road.

The DJ business also led to me becoming ordained as a minister. I have presided over almost 20 weddings, one baptism, and three baby naming ceremonies in that time.

I’d love to hear your three most important decisions if you’re willing to share. Post in the comment sections. Send me an email. Contact me through social media.

Own your crazy

People are weird. People are crazy. People obsess over things, worry about things and develop rituals around things that baffle and confuse the people around them.

It’s okay. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, it’s really okay.

But here’s my advice:

Own your crazy.

Don’t deny it. Don’t defend it. Don’t attempt to mitigate it. Simply own it. Admit to it, acknowledge it, and people (I promise) will accept you.

It’s only when you attempt to defend your crazy as normal that people get annoyed, frustrated, and angry.

It’s only when you refuse to own your crazy that you risk being perceived as crazy.

I wear wireless headphones on my head. I wear them almost all the time. I have them on now. I wear them in my house, in the car, on the streets, and while walking the hallways at work. Whenever I am not speaking or listening to someone or writing, there is a book or a podcast or a song playing in my head.

This is not normal. It’s kind of crazy.

I think it allows me to consume vast quantities of content. I think it increases my productivity exponentially. I think it allows me to eliminate many of the petty annoyances of the world.

But a man walking through life wearing headphones almost all of the time is not normal. It’s kind of crazy. When I acknowledge that it’s kind of crazy, people nod. They smile. They even laugh. And that’s the end of it.

I own my crazy.

During the school year, I eat the exact same food for breakfast and lunch almost every day without variation. Egg McMuffin for breakfast. Oatmeal for lunch. Every day.

That is kind of crazy.

It reduces the amount of time I spend eating considerably. It eliminates  time spend making food choices or preparing other meals. And I like Egg McMuffins and oatmeal. The Egg McMuffin provides a good breakfast, and the oatmeal is an excellent means of keeping your cholesterol down.

But eating the same thing every single day is crazy. I know it. I own it.  

 

See? That wasn’t hard.

My friend tells me that this advice is pointless because people are not self aware. He says that it’s rare for a person to possess actual introspection. He claims that it’s almost impossible for people to turn a critical eye upon themselves.

I hope he’s wrong.

So if you’re the parent of a five year-old daughter, and you have never left her with a babysitter because you fear for your child’s safety, that is completely understandable.

And a little crazy.

Rather than attempting to defend this position, simply say, “I really can’t leave my daughter with anyone except my sister at this point. I can’t even leave her with my best friend. I know. It’s a little crazy. It’s just the way I’m doing things right now.”

If your children spend more time sleeping in your bed than their own, that’s okay. I know many parents with this unfortunate arrangement. But it’s crazy. Just say it. “Yes, my three kids sleep in our bed a lot of the time, and I even have a cot at the end of the bed for one of them. Sometimes my husband has to sleep in the kids’ beds to get some sleep. It’s absolutely crazy, but I’m not ready to change things yet.”

Own it.

If the television is on in your house all day long, that’s kind of crazy.

If your preferred leisure activity is shopping, that’s kind of crazy.

If you mow your lawn three times a week, that’s kind of crazy.

If you can’t leave your six cats alone for more than three hours at a time, that’s kind of crazy.

If you wash and wax your car every other day, that’s kind of crazy.

If you don’t read, that’s kind of crazy.

If you refuse to ride in a car unless you’re the driver, that’s kind of crazy.

If you don’t want to split the check evenly because you had one less drink than your dinner companions, that’s kind of crazy.

Simply acknowledge that your actions are not normal, and people will be far more accepting and even sympathetic to your needs. They are more likely to accommodate you needs. They will be more understanding.

Deny your crazy and risk being perceived as legitimately crazy.

Own your crazy and you’ll be perceived as normal.

Just like the rest of us.

I live in a country where Janet Jackson’s boob receives more attention than net neutrality.

I just learned that the FCC received 1.4 million comments on their website regarding Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction during the 2004 Super Bowl. This is the most comments that they have ever received about an issue.

I’m not saying that the world needed to see Janet Jackson’s nipple-covered breast at halftime of a Super Bowl, but do we really live in a country so prudish that more than a million people ran to their computers following the reveal to complain?

It’s just a boob.

But I guess we do.

The FCC is currently soliciting comments on the issue of net neutrality, which is about a billion times more important than a televised boob, and thanks to HBO’s John Oliver and his recent call to viewers to voice their opinions, the FCC has received just over a million comments on the issue.

Not as many as they received for a boob, but still a lot.

It’s just a table with some crayons and paints and paper, but in a surprising way, it’s changed the course of my children's lives.

It’s rare that a simple change can alter the course of an entire household, but our recent decision to turn an otherwise unused table in our home into an art table for our children has made all the difference.

Almost instantly, the table pulled our children into its sphere of influence like a Russian dictator warmed with nuclear weapons. Crayons, paints, markers, stickers, and cut paper littered the table and floor in seconds and self-started art projects began to leap forth from their little hands. Without an ounce of guidance from us, the kids began creating things solely from their imagination.

A month later, little has changed. Every two hours, I find myself sweeping the floor beneath the table and reorganizing the construction paper and coloring books and sticker books. I grumble and complain about doing this, because it’s annoying, but I kind of love it, too. The table is now covered in marker and paint and is permanently ruined, but the projects that my children have envisioned and created on their own astound me.

More importantly, they can sit at that table for endless amounts of time, happily occupied by their work. My daughter has learned to use scissors. She’s coloring in the lines now. Her grip on crayons and markers have improved. And the kids can sit opposite each other with rarely a complaint.

If I remember correctly, the art table was my idea and Elysha’s execution, which is to say that I had a random idea that never would have happened had Elysha not actually done something about it.

Parental teamwork at work.

 

Declare your parental pride. Make the world better for the parent of a newborn.

I saw a friend last week who recently had a baby. She told me that of all the advice she received prior to giving birth, my warning about all the parents who will attempt to make parenting sound miserable and ruin her day was the most helpful.

“I can’t believe it, but you were right. So many people are awful.”

A great majority of parents are exceptionally skilled at complaining.

A great majority of parents feel the inexplicable need to dampen the enthusiasm and optimism of less experienced parents.

An even greater majority of parents fail to give themselves and other parents the credit that they deserve.

I’ll never understand it. My friend doesn’t understand it. When someone asks her how parenthood is going, she tells them how happy she is. How wonderful her baby has been. How joyous she and her husband are.

The typical response:

“Just wait until she can walk. Then things will change.”

“You’re in the honeymoon period. It’ll end soon.”

“It’s the second one that will kill you.”

Parents of newborns should walk around with a roll of duct tape to silence these pessimists and idiots up.

Actually, I should do the same. I can’t tell you how many times a parent has warned me how difficult my sweet and happy daughter will become once she is a teenager, forgetting that I once raised a teenage stepdaughter and forgetting that it takes a special kind of jackass to make a comment like this.    

In order to combat these naysayers, I propose that all rationale parents take a moment today and acknowledge all the excellent parenting that we have done this far. Stop for a moment and reflect upon the outstanding decisions,  the astounding restraint, the brilliant planning, and the remarkable sacrifices, that you have made as a parent.

Forget the errors and the flubs. Put aside the guilt and regret.

Be positive. Be self-congratulatory. Share you kick-ass moments.

Then go to the hardware store and purchase a roll of duct tape.

If you’d like to join me in this crusade, make your own list of excellence in parenting. If you are so inclined, post it in the comment section below. Tweet your list. Post it to Facebook. Write it on a slip of paper, wrap it around a rock, and throw it through the window of one of these jackasses who can’t stop telling you that “When it comes to kids, one plus one equals three!”

Take a stand against all those parents who can’t stand the thought that there might be happy, effective parents in the world with a sense of balance and perspective.

To this end, I offer you my list of parental successes.

1. My son has never peed on me while I was changing his diaper.
2. I have never yelled at my children.
3. Other than live sporting events, I have never watched television while my children were awake.
4. I have never failed to follow through on a warning to my daughter.
5. My children have never slept in my bed.
6. I have never skipped a night of reading to my children.   
7. I try like hell to avoid telling my daughter that she is smart. I praise her for hard work, persistence, grit, listening, and a willingness to learn, but I avoid saying “smart” whenever possible (though I’ve still said it hundreds of times).

In the future, I will make a point of highlighting the success of other parents as well.

Contrary to popular belief, parents and teachers are well aware of the existence of Sparknotes.

was sitting inside Barnes & Noble last week with seven teenagers who are participating in our writing camp. We were discussing book titles when one of the students pointed at a rack of Sparknotes and gasped.

Heads turned. Jaws dropped. One student asked, “What are they doing here?”

Another whispered, “Why are they just sitting there, out in the open?”

It turns out that the kids didn’t realize that Sparknotes were something that you could purchase in a bookstore. They thought that Sparknotes were a product only available on the Internet. Even more amusing, they thought that parents and teachers were unaware of their existence.

I explained that parents and teachers are well aware of the existence of such products, and that they have been available in bookstores for a long, long time.

“Then why do they still exist?” one student asked.

I explained that as much as I wish it were otherwise, parents and teachers do not rule the world.

Then one of them pointed to the center of the rack. “The Hunger Games? They have Sparknotes for The Hunger Games? What moron cant read that book?”

They all agreed that the existence of The Hunger Games Sparknotes was an abomination.

I love listening to kids.

My daughter, the old lady.

In the last three days, the following words have come out of my five year-old daughter’s mouth:

“Mom, just remember: the doctor knows best.”

“Dad, you know I don’t like wet feet in the house!”

“It’s a shame that my bed isn’t made. Let’s get that done.”

She’s also asked to see a knee specialist and told me that I’m driving too fast.

She still eats applesauce from a squeeze bottle and puts her underwear on backwards from time to time (actually, I do this, too), but she’s apparently rapidly transforming into a small, nagging, persnickety adult. 

A visit from Mom

It’s grainy, and the color is bad, but this photograph means the world to me.

I grew up in a time before digital photography, and as a family, we took shockingly few pictures. Two divorces and a foreclosure reduced that number even further. Scattered the family photos to the wind. As a result, there are few surviving photographs from my childhood and even fewer of my mother, who died in 2007.

My brother (pictured on the right) has this photograph, which I had never seen before. He posted it on Facebook the other day, and when I saw it, I was brought to tears.

I still am whenever I look at it.

It was like an unexpected visit from Mom.

It’s also an image from the brief period of time when my family was still together. When life was simple. When I had a mom and a dad and a brother and a sister, and I can’t remember ever feeling worry or sadness. I see the little boy who I once was, slouching against his tiny mother’s frame, and I remember how safe I once felt being with her.

It’s a grainy image, but I can see my mother perfectly. I remember her face, her hair, her hands, and even her voice; that youthful, singsong voice before the combination of smoking and muscular dystrophy altered it.

All of it came back to me when I saw this photograph. The past rushed in, filled me, and for a moment, made me feel like that little boy with his mother.     

I miss my mother, and I miss the boy I used to be.