I always wondered why God was supposed to be a father," she whispers. Fathers always want you to measure up to something. Mothers are the ones who love you unconditionally, don't you think?
My mother phones daily to ask "Did you just try to reach me?" When I reply no she adds "So if you're not too busy call me while I'm still alive " . . . and hangs up.
Jesus Christ is the way of gaining a father, the path of a pure and righteous life without fornication, lust or adultery
When you're a dad, there's no one above you. If I don't do something that has to be done, who is going to do it?
He needed me to do what sons do for their fathers: bear witness that they’re substantial, that they’re not hollow, not ringing absences. That they count for something when little else seems to.
What I really want to tell him is to pick up that baby of his and hold her tight, to set the moon on the edge of her crib and to hang her name up in the stars.
Weston: Look at my outlook. You don't envy it, right?Wesley: No.Weston: That's because it's full of poison. Infected. And you recognize poison, right? You recognize it when you see it?Wesley: Yes.West...
Well, it doesn't look good. Makes me look like one of those unloved latchkey children they make after-school specials about.Don't sell yourself short. You're more Masterpiece Theatre.
They were talking more distantly than if they were strangers who had just met, for if they had been he would have been interested in her just because of that, and curious, but their common past was a...
Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.
Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.
He made a good salary but he did not flaunt it. He’d been raised in Chicago proper by a Lithuanian Jewish mother who had grown up in poverty, telling stories, often, of extending a chicken to its full...