In the summer of 2006 I took my father to Ireland. He’s a Montreal-Irishman, son to that classic clan who can be seen running wild in Duddy Kravitz’s St. Urbain Street. Romantically Irish, as the Irish are, he deserved to go to the Old Country. So we packed bags and flew across the ocean. I…
Category: True
Empiricist
“Ow!” Erin offered as she pulled on her sock. She gets dressed on her own now, with only the occasional (read: constant) imploring from us to just-get-dressed-just-get-dressed-go-get-dressed-get-dressed-where-are-your-pants-go-get-dressed. “What happened?” I asked. “My sock shocked me,” she replied. “It has static electrixity!” “That’s electricity full of Triscuits,” Emily suggested. “Hey! I know! It’s from the slide!”…
He’ll Have the Cleanest Teeth Ever
I have a small scar on my right ankle. When I was a precocious scamp, just under two years old, I clambered my way up onto the countertop, stuck my feet into the sink, and turned on the hot water. I’ve had better ideas since then. Apparently there’s something in the DNA about climbing onto…