If he hadn’t died in 1993, my father would have been 97 today. This poem is in honor of him. God bless you, Dad. CONTENT Tired eyes have seen so much. Blowing dust that swallowed lives. Smallpox, caravans of desperation. California, the promised land. Weathered hands have touched the world. A seaman’s tunic … More Poem: “Content”
Like a lot of you, I’ve been cooped up in my house, wishing I was at the beach, in the mountains, or visiting family. Instead, Netflix has become my closest friend. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t taken advantage of these days of isolation. I told Celeste Perrino, my friend and co-author of Salome’s … More The Remnants of a Fruitful Summer
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it in the last few weeks, but even though it’s summer, I’ve finished my first draft of my book, I’m sheltering in place like I should…I still am keeping busy. I have a wife that I love very much. She knows that I can’t sit still very long. So … More My Other, Other Job
The relationship between a father and son is complicated. Some sons idolize their fathers, others hate them. For some, the relationship is somewhere in between. Because the job of a father is to not only take care of and protect his family, but to prepare his children for their lives after they leave the security … More With Gratitude, On Father’s Day
If you’re like me, you’re sequestered in your house, waiting out this whole coronavirus scare like it’s some giant snowstorm that has blanketed the whole world. Wait and see, wait and see. It’s easy to be caught up in what we can’t do, where we can’t be, and who we can’t be with. But having … More What are you grateful for?
In our very expansive backyard, we have a section of lawn that has been designated a pet cemetary. We own two acres and have lived here for 22 years, so not only do we have the space, but over the years, we have accumulated quite a few plots for family pets. I’ve meant to write … More Pet Cemetery
I want to tell you about the third time I fell in love. It was on Feb. 26, 1982. Her name was Melissa. I wasn’t a stranger to the operating room. I worked at Hinsdale Hospital in Illinois and often took photos there. But today was special. When Melissa came into the room, it was … More The Other Woman
In my 21 years as a university professor, I’ve seen the same thing time and again. An exceptional student comes to college and is overwhelmed by all the extracurricular options available to him or her. I remember one particular journalism major. He was a Student Association officer, on the gymnastics team, on the elite choir, … More What are you willing to give up?
Like most of my short stories, this one is based loosely on a dream. It was an ordinary police station, for the most part. The main desk where the sergeant usually sat was situated front and center, with half a dozen desks organized carefully in rows behind. Glass partitions separated a few, more private areas, … More Short Story: “The Night King”
I’m writing this next to a picture window larger than the big screen TV I have at home, looking out at the passing north Texas landscape. Shelly and I are sneaking away for two and a half days of sublime retreat in San Antonio at the beginning of Spring Break. In this year of austerity—we’re … More Thoughts from a Slow Moving Train