Running … Out of Time

By the time you read this, I’ll be in Orlando, probably soaking my legs in some sort of tub recovering from the Disneyworld Marathon. My kids may be soaking their legs, too. All three of us are running the thing. Whether we make it or not … well, that’s an open question.

No matter. It’ll be a run worth remembering. Just like they’ve all been. Like …

When I ran after Colin when he was 3, swooping him up in my arms before he could dash through a puddle, him squealing with joy.

Going Into the Woods With Fatherhood

Dads are important. Anyone who doubts that just needs to go to the movies.

Just look at this year’s crop of Oscar wannabes: In Birdman, struggling actor Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) is desperately trying to patch up his long-dysfunctional relationship with his now-grown daughter. Bill Murray’s titular character in St. Vincent becomes something of a father figure to a little boy named Oliver … and shows us why it’s probably a good thing he never had kids of his own.

The Child in Winter

Paul—not me, the smart, apostolic one—once wrote, “When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”

I’d like to think that I’ve done the same. Except this Christmas.

My kids are pretty old. Colin is 23, Emily is 20, and both will celebrate birthdays before Groundhog Day. Naturally, that makes me positively ancient. We’ve all put the ways of childhood behind us in one way or another. There are days when I can barely remember what childhood was like.