Caryn and I raised our kids together. We were kids together, but we didn't know it then. We thought we were grown-ups, 19 and 20, both of us in love, engaged, both of us planning our weddings. She was my husband's friend first. He knew her from Trinity Episcopal Church, where both their families were active members, in the choir, on committees. We met for the first time at her parents' house. It was Christmas Eve. She introduced me…
Read MoreThere is no "ex" in father. Once a father, always a father.
My father used to say this to me, though not in these words. He used to say, because I was his only child, his "one and only" (these are his words), that he was the only one in the "whole world" (more of his words) who could call me "daughter." And I was the only one in the whole world who could call him "father."
Read MoreThey weren't fishbowls, though that's how I remember them; two, clear glass tubs full of white paper strips that held my youngest daughter's dreams. She was 16 and we were in New York City for six weeks, subletting an apartment because she'd been admitted to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts for a summer program, and I wouldn't let her go alone…
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