Shane

I was walking home on the dark vacant streets of Delaware, Ohio in 1988 when a young shirtless mullet-haired man holding a Budweiser in each hand burst  through his screen door. He stood on the porch, motionless, eyeing me like I was a coyote and he had chickens to protect. For a moment I considered holding out[…]

Day 362: The Human Pipe Cleaner

To avoid mass hysteria, we use an acronym around here. “C.E.C.” stands for Chuck E. Cheese, which if said within earshot of the kids, triggers emotional multi-ball. Silas jumps up and down, yelling “I want to go right now,” while Arlo drifts into a zombie-like state, wandering around chanting “Shoing E Shee … Shoing E Shee .. Shoing[…]

Day 353: Is This Your Bag, Sir?

I was thirteen years old when I told airport security my dad had a gun. Had it been post 9/11, we might have missed our international flight while a powdery latex glove attached to a GED recipient searched my father’s cavities. He’d accepted a year-long teaching position in Florence, Italy. We invited my best friend “S.P.” to come with[…]