My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Far Enough to Be Safe
At one tmie we worried about Biafra and Vietnam. Then Rhodesia and South Africa. They were thousands of miles away. They never touched us. Then we worried about the Sudan, and again about South Africa. They are still far away, far enough not to really grab hold, forcing us to see and hear. Tragic as they are, they are sufficiently far away to be perfectly safe.
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