A Father Again

Clouds hung low, spitting light rain mixed with sleet. The weatherman predicted a brown slushy holiday. He had promised a mom he would visit today. He had met her son that fall, but he was slipping, headed for the streets. Jesus, you are enough to save from the pull of easy money, aren’t you? As…

Walter,’Never at the Altar’

My partner for the ‘afternoon of outreach’ was Daniel, a high school student from Brooklyn. It was a first for him, this ‘going out and talking to perfect strangers.’ He was nervous, visibly. Later, he confided that for the past couple of years atheists, who challenged his every belief, had bullied him. The weekend retreat…

A Note For Tired Parents

When my children were small, I used to rush home from whatever I was doing, and be greeted by little hands pawing for attention, and feet dancing around in circles, dizzy with anticipation. Playtime would be a tangle of limbs, and a chorus of laughter and giggles, curious fingers padding a receding hairline, and soft…

Those Hands…

By any standard, my father has large hands. Growing up, I watched him use those hands in construction. Whenever I shook them, which was rare, my own would be engulfed entirely by callous and scar. His mason hands never saw the inside of a glove. They are a memory to me, those large hands, because…