Suprise Me

Something one must remember about me is the environment in which I was raised. My mother had serious mental health issues. My father didn’t want to upset her and instructed us to do the same. We all took a lot from her and that became the norm, until I blew up and fought back, screaming… Read More

I grew up in rural New England and, altho my dad was a scientist who worked in Boston, I spent my school years in a small public school that embraced equal measures of college prep students and shop kids. Many of my friends were the sons and daughters of farmers and mechanics. Out of family… Read More

My Father,  the Outsider Artist  My father Arthur was a wise and quite a wonderful guy,  but I don’t remember him doling out wisdom or advice very often.  Rather he taught by example – he was a man of integrity,  warmth,   and an overwhelming kindness,  although he also had some rather annoying idiosyncrasies!    (See… Read More

  Hey there you fellow homo sapiens! Gather ’round, lemme tell ya a joke. It’s a real knee-slapper, been around for millennia. It goes a little somethin’ like this: a bunch of ya all get riled up, paint yer faces funny colors, grab some pointy sticks, and see who can spill the most blood and… Read More

Teacher Strike In September 1968 I was a newly minted school librarian working in a New York City public high school when my union,  the United Federation of Teachers (UFT),  then led by Al Shanker,  voted to strike.  I joined the picket line. The strike followed a confrontation between a newly established community-controlled school board… Read More

As I’ve been following the young activists today who are taking a leadership role in a fight my generation seemed to have given up on, it brought me back to another time when young people felt both helpless and passionate about a cause. In our day, it was the anti-war movement. What is tragically similar… Read More

In the final analysis, I am happy. Read More

Darkness is not "my old friend." Read More

This guy Heinlein could really tell a story. Read More

I was in the high school class of 1968, indelibly stamped. When that year was still the future, it represented that border between childhood dependency and my real life, whatever that might mean.  I had known nothing but childhood, but I felt ready for things to turn.  Read More