I see my mother everywhere. The food court is full of my mother – not in a bad way but in a full way. She is waiting in line to buy us knishes. She is talking to a man who looks like my father with her chin raised just a little so she can look younger. She is 90 but she knows she can pass for 75. She has at least a quarter of a century fewer wrinkles than someone else her own age.
In November of 1963, a woman turned to my father in line at the bank and said – referring to President Kennedy’s recent assassination –…
One morning, while visiting my mother in Florida, I found myself in Publix-the kind of supermarket we used to fantasize about back home-waiting on line for a lottery ticket.
Most of the time when I read a review of my short story collection-“Principles of Uncertainty and Other Constants”-I think to myself, “So that’s what…
On my way to the subway this morning , the owner of the hardware store smiled and waved at me. I was certain he was…
“Do not hang back with the apes!” – Blanche Dubois to her sister Stella in “A Streetcar Named Desire. ” I have reached the digital…
I remember my father’s photos of the severed heads of Japanese soldiers brought back to his camp in Luzon by Philippine guerillas.
Regular Middlebrow writer, Mitch Levenberg, has graciously allowed us to publish the preface of his exciting new memoir, due out later this year.
I went to see King Lear at BAM the other night – alone, childless, dogless and wifeless, a naked, base Park Slopian stripped of his familial identity.