“What are your favorite books of all time,” I asked my 81-yr-old father.
“I’ll have to think about that,” he told me, raking his fingers through his thick gray hair. My dad is a bright, gregarious man who closes his eyes and throws back his head when he laughs, which is often. He’s a seaman and a spinner of yarns, though I would not describe him as a reader. I did not know which books he cherished. And, when he got back to me after a week, his choices showed me so much … ab
Rocks, acrylic on cardboard, 2000 My dear friend, Joel (not his real name) is sober 41 days. There is a purity in his voice, a direct line to his raw-meat heart, free of nuance or subtext. Hearing this pure voice is like watching my sleeping 4-year old. Knee-bucklingly beautiful. In a recent rehab group discussion, Joel was asked,” Who Are You?” He told me he could not answer, because he truly does not know who he is. Joel has spent his whole life running away from who he is.