In moments of self-imposed hatred, I see my son's baby blues. Nothing else matters. All concern drops. Where does that light come from?
Aren't we sick of these stories? Do I really care about the status of Charlie Sheen's recovery? What I do care a lot about is the state of the average American guy. And for him, I am pretty darned concerned.
Dad is perhaps the smartest man I have ever known, having graduated from Princeton, Oxford, and Yale. But he has to arrange the chairs in a certain way at family gatherings.
I felt the air travel in and out of my lungs. I was no longer holding my breath. I imagined myself reading Go, Dog, Go! to my children.
I'm not afraid to say, "I love you." I live in a home with four women--my wife and three daughters --and they've taught me about romance, affection, etc.
Honestly I didn't want to go. Panel discussions are not my bag. I had to fly all the way across the country from Boston to LA. And it so happened that I would miss my daughter's first prom.
In all this pain and suffering, stupidity and tragedy, war and natural disaster, hope and despair...in the final analysis, have we really learned anything?