It’s that time of our life again when my wife and I dream of dropping everything and spending a year abroad. Most wage earners cook up this fantasy about twice a day, in between steaming cups of reality brew, but our fantasy will soon be real. Next spring we’ll cram into suitcases our clothes and books and modest middle-age hopes, and we’ll embark, like we do every seven years, on the great perk of our profession — sabbatical.…
Last summer, my 6-year-old son Lincoln and I gazed up at a giant oak tree in our yard in Indiana. “Who invented man?” Lincoln suddenly asked me. “What?” I said, trying to stall a few seconds for time.
A boy is struck by a car, falling into an unconscious netherworld that raises doubts about guilt and God, the meaning of prayer and the cost of love.
Last winter, I wrote an essay about returning to Notre Dame for the first time in decades to attend my 25th reunion. “The Reluctant Domer” put to words my ambivalence about returning to a place where I hadn’t always felt at ease.
A father and son find they are not fallen-away Domers after all.
The message line in the email read YOUR LOSER FRIEND — all in caps — and I didn’t open it right away
Everybody in the house is sick again. My 4-year-old, Madeline, packages every virus in Indiana and totes it home from preschool to share with us. Last week Madeline gave her cough and pink eye to our infant, Lincoln, whom we call Smiley, since grins through even the most miserable flu symptoms. He infected my wife, who now boasts a sinus infection, sore throat, wheezing cough and two…