My kids remind me of my little bro and myself
I still enjoy seeing my boys walk down the street to catch their school bus. I don't need to accompany them, but I love to sneak a peek from our picture window as they waddle to their stop. I imagine their conversations. Sometimes they jostle, punch each other playfully. Sometimes they race to the end of the street. I can't help but . . .
A fraudster tried to rip me off. I'll still tell my kids to give people the benefit of the doubt
I teach my kids that people are generally kind. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I'm a bit naive, but I choose to live this way.
I know it's not all rainbows and unicorns. There are bad people in this world. So I teach my kids to be skeptical, too. It's a good thing to know when to raise your shields.
One morning, . . .
Sometimes it's better to step outside our comfort zones
I find it hard as a parent to let my kids fail.
My son was getting ready for soccer practice. I used to remind him, item by item, to pack all his things.
"Do you have your water bottle? How about your cleats? Your shin pads? Ball? Socks?"
I got tired of reminding him. To be more accurate, I got tired of needing to know. One . . .
I damaged a friendship beyond repair. Years later something wonderful happened
This post contains course language, vulgarity and sexual references. Some readers may find certain passages offensive and/or distasteful.
SHE WAS A LOVELY PERSON AND FRIEND. But I had wrecked our friendship.
By no means was it intentional, she was more collateral damage than anything. Caught in the wake of my manic . . .
I wanted to stand in the same space my parents and brother used to, so I knocked on the door
The moment I stopped perceiving time as linear, a new world arose.
I jogged toward the little red bungalow. A man washed dishes behind the kitchen window, his silhouette bathed in dim fluorescent light.
This was my parents' home in the early 1970s, before I was born. Mom and Dad pointed it out to me a while ago. At the time, I . . .
I would love to stop feeding the consumerist orgy
"Are you ready for Christmas?"
I get asked this question often. I ask it, too. Around the holidays, it seems to be a run-of-the-mill inquiry, like "What's goin' on?" or "How are you?"
Christmas seems to be something we "do." We are busy "doers."
When I ask people how they're doing, a very common response is, "Good. Real . . .
We live in such a connected world, but sometimes I feel it's never been easier to be lonely
The door opened to a sidewalk of slush and grey skies. I exited the bus, negotiated my way around some hurried pedestrians, then crossed the road.
I saw him, sitting on his corner. Bank Street and Albert, downtown Ottawa.
Ruddy, pock-marked face, sandy-brown beard. And a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Many people walked . . .