It’s not often that television shows speak to my life. Mostly they provide entertainment, escape, and, if I choose wisely, elegant writing and some humor and pathos. Thirtysomething is the last show I recall that hit me where I live: I was the same age as the characters, having children and struggling with issues of motherhood versus work. But now I find myself strangely drawn to Mad Men, a fantasy… Read More »I Was That Little Girl Under the Table
The email from my father’s wife said that he had fallen and broken several ribs. After a horrific night in the emergency room he was, for reasons unfathomable, sent home. But the next day the pain was so much and his condition so worsened that he was checked into the hospital. Further, the email said, his doctor offered the probability that he might never get out. But knowing that my… Read More »Watching Daddy Die
My dad wasn’t around much. He says he was, says I came home every night for dinner. Which was true. When he wasn’t on the road, he came home every night for dinner. He came home, sat in his chair, read the paper, ate dinner, and then—that was it. At the dinner table he sometimes made jokes and teased us. Sometimes the teasing was good natured, sometimes it was merciless.… Read More »Requiem for the Pontiac