Memoirous

Yesterday my daughter and I took Jack to the library for a program. The Music Lady was there as well as a roomful of toddlers. I’ve been at the forefront of taking Jack to the library for storytime—ever since the first disastrous beginning. That first time was pure toddler chaos: hugging other children to the ground, trying to share bottles, picking up other’s people cellphones and carrying them around. The fact that there was a program or agenda meant nothing to Jack. This was my daughter’s first program at the library for Jack. She was horrified by how unfocused he was. Of course, there were other children equally unfocused and not listening. That’s why I’m committed to taking him—to socialize him to the idea of programs, structure, on the art of listening. Some mornings go better than others. She came away dejected—“he’ll never be ready for nursery school!” Maybe not, but I remembered a time when I was quite young, when I went to my first puppet show. I’m not sure where it w...

I said I would try this year to put out some writing prompts. I’;ve been reading Peter Orner’s Still No Word From You, a collection of essays often inspired by books he’s reading, so in a fractured mirror or multi-layered memory where I’m prompted by something Orner’s written in response to something he’s reading: I give you—ticks. Again, a memory involving my father. I had a propensity to walk in the woods near our house (the woods was eventually plowed under for a highway bypass), and with all this walking I’d take a rest and lie down under the trees staring up at the sky or the underside of leaves. Later, at home in my bed after a shower trying to fall asleep, I might notice a lump behind my ear or attached to my skull. I’d go downstairs and there would be Dad reading by the light of a lamp or the glow of the TV—Hey, what’s this? I’d ask. A tick. This is before Lyme disease or the fear of catching anything from the bloodsucker. He’d get out his tweezers, maybe light a match ...