My father was outspoken. He offended people. His heart was too big and too fierce for most people, and he died by the time he was 50, when I was just 22. Some people thought he might have lived a bit longer if he could have “calmed down a bit.” People …Read More »
The Youngest Immigrants One father reflects on family separation at our southern borders.
My son is Guatemalan. I am not. He became my son through adoption, when he was 10 months old. When I see photographs of crying children detained at our border, they remind me of my son. When I see families that have risked their lives and walked for hundreds of …Read More »
Finding a wallet, finding wonder
I just took my son Brendan and his Nigerian buddy to see the movie “Wonder.” It was lovely. The whole movie is about the beauty of kinship, about people retraining their eyes to see with their hearts. On the way out of the theater, 200 people filed past a woman …Read More »
If You Don’t Have a Dad
I was 22, our dad had been dead for almost seven weeks and I was two weeks away from immigrating to the United States. I sat there at 10:30 pm on a Friday night with my two little brothers, aged 15 and 16, still in shocking grief and we switched …Read More »