Every day, twenty-three men who are not allowed to see their children commit suicide.
Few things depress me more than the sound of a childless house. Our time with my son comes and goes so quickly it’s difficult to adjust. By the time we’ve all settled in, he’s gone and the waiting game begins anew. He is not quite nine years old, stands at 4′ 10″. The days of curling […]
I rolled my eyes behind unwilling negotiation and cut a deal. If he read the first three books sent by his mother, which would only take a Saturday afternoon, he would read one of my choices next. The boy complied, and for the time I was sated. As the first Saturday afternoon approached evening, I viciously chewed my fingernails with anticipation. Sunday he could take A Wrinkle in Time, a bottle of water, march out to the treehouse and prepare to have his mind blown.