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.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
No More C.C.D.
Someone was telling me the boys should be in C.C.D., but I decided "no." They never liked it. They never seemed better for having gone, only sadder. I mentioned this and was told that was not as important as the discipline. That is not a good enough reason. In fact, it was more than that -- it was actually dumb but I thought it best not to say so.
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