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Tag Archives: With Feeling

Dove flying in Lisbon, Portugal

With Feeling / Six: Daddy

Read the rest of the series To write about Daddy is a more ambiguous task than to write about Mama. Daddy and I didn’t have what you would confuse with a warm, sitcom type of father/son relationship. We never tossed a ball in the backyard.

Dove flying in Lisbon, Portugal

With Feeling / Five: Mama

Read the rest of the series I’ve so far avoided talking too specifically about family members. I’m overly self-conscious about what is and isn’t my story to tell. My family is a group of private folk, very nearly to the point of being secretive. It’s

Dove flying in Lisbon, Portugal

With Feeling / Four: Lessons of Spirit and Flesh

Read the rest of the series God and sex. One, I learned about through very intentional, formal instruction, the other, through hearsay and secret books and brief, embarrassed sections in health class. The connection between the two was implicit and vague but strong enough to

Dove flying in Lisbon, Portugal

With Feeling / Two: When I Think of Home

Read the rest of the series But Daru had been born here. Everywhere else, he felt exiled. (Albert Camus, The Guest) I have a pet peeve. I like to call it “middle-class, white boy angst.” Characteristic of this blight on American culture is a whiny

Hands doing an explaining gesture

With Feeling / One: Anything Like Right

Read the rest of the series … I talk about my life anyway because if, on the one hand, hardly anything could be less important, on the other hand, hardly anything could be more important. My story is important not because it is mine, God