Many people do not know that Jennifer and I had a baby, Leah, who died. She was born Monday, November 25, 1996, and died Friday November 29, 1996, after five days of living only in a hospital. She had breathing problems she could not overcome.
Leah with her parents, in the last hour of her life.
One of the reasons that many people do not know about Leah is that I do not tell them about her. Privately, among our family and close friends, we of course speak of her and remember her. Every November around her birthday, a time of year that is particularly hard for her mother, we recognize her life by lighting a candle or hiking, as a family, up to the hill where we scattered her ashes. We talk about her freely with our sons, who never met her and will never understand the impact she has had on their lives.
Among people I do not know, however, talking about Leah represents an awkward challenge. Whenever a new book of mine comes out, the publisher releases biographical material about me that typically mentions the fact that I have children. I often speak publicly in front of groups, and occasionally do radio and TV interviews. These, too, generally mention my children, at least in passing, and this is where the awkwardness comes in. Do I tell people I have four children, or three? Continue reading
The other day my friend Max sent me a picture he had uncovered of us. I am the middle person here, the one with the beard. Max is on the left; another friend, Dan, is on the right. I was twenty at the time the picture was taken, on the day of my brother’s wedding. This is why I am in the tux. (I did not wear the wool cap during the ceremony!)
My older son is turning twenty this year, and he just shaved off a beard he had been growing for a while. I emailed him this picture to show him how his old man once had a pretty good beard, too. He liked it and texted it to some of his friends, many of whom commented favorably. Then, on Father’s Day, he shared the photo on SnapChat, saying, “Hey, this was what my dad looked like back in the day,” and he received a bunch more favorable responses. Finally, I made my son proud!
It was a quiet Sunday morning, and in a relaxed and optimistic mood I sat down on the couch with a mug of hot black tea and some papers and a pencil, thinking I could grab a few minutes for some hard copy editing of a piece I had written.
Then my son Gabe started shooting nerf darts at my head.
This ever happen to you? My sons seem to have built-in radar that tells them when I’m trying to steal some time for myself and do something other than cater to their every whim and desire. This is their cue to pop out of nowhere and shoot nerf darts at me. If you are a writer and a parent as I am—actually, if you run any home-based business or telecommute—it is unavoidable that there will be times when you must work when the children are home with you.
How do you get your work done when the li’l darlings are running around fighting and screaming and raising a wild rumpus? Here are some strategies and approaches that worked for me when our children were young: Continue reading
“Wow! A book. What a neat present!”
When Hank was a boy, he read voraciously, gobbling up Alex Rider, Harry Potter and other books like peanuts at a ballgame.
Then we got him an iPhone and his appetite for books dried up seemingly overnight. I asked him about this change and he said, “I hate to read. Books are boring.”
A similar change occurred with Gabe. When the iPhone—and iPad and gaming systems—entered the picture, his youthful interest in books evaporated.
I know from talking with other parents that our experience is hardly unusual. Boys and girls read fewer books once they fall prey to the siren song of phones and social media. But the prognosis for the written word is hardly dim. In many ways it’s very bright. Continue reading