Like many people, I grew up in a family adversely affected by alcoholism. Actually what I want to say is “a family destroyed by alcoholism,” but as a writer I consider that verb and tell myself it’s a cheat, a pitiful attempt to wring emotion from a reader. The truth, though, is that alcoholism did destroy my family. Continue reading
As a parent, I have many regrets: things I did, things I didn’t do, mistakes I made that will probably scar my children for life.
Much of my sorrow stems from a feeling that I didn’t spend enough time with them when they were young, and now that they’re grown, the opportunity is gone. Continue reading
Back in the days of the dinosaurs when I was young and walked five miles to school (my bare feet ravaged by the snow), and did my homework by candlelight, people used libraries. The large bookstore chains didn’t exist. If you wanted to buy a book, you went to a department store, or a 5 & 10, or the drugstore where you could always pick up a mystery or romance paperback from the rotating book racks at the front of the store. If you were very lucky, you belonged to the Book of the Month Club and every month a package arrived from Camp Hill, Pennsylvania delivering the latest best sellers. But most people I knew got their books at the library.
One of my earliest memories is of visiting the library. I was three and though the concrete staircase leading to the front door was not long, the steps seemed ENORMOUSLY high. I fastened my hand to the rough iron railing and, lifting my knees as high as I could, pulled myself up and over each riser. I thought I’d never reach the front door. Continue reading
Spoiler Alert! Proceed with caution if you haven’t read Sophie’s Choice or Cold Mountain.
Nobody talks about how some books make you cry. Oh sure, people mention all the time that a movie put them in tears (me, for instance, when watching Terms of Endearment, a movie that hit me so hard I had to lock myself in the bathroom because I couldn’t stop sobbing. Even now, when I watch the scene where Debra Winger says goodbye to her sons, I lose it.) I’ve also heard many people admit to crying at commercials, people like me who have been known to wipe a tear after catching a favorite Hallmark commercial or that Folger’s Coffee commercial, the one where Peter comes home for Christmas.
I can’t remember what grade I was in when I read A Separate Peace. 7th grade? 8th grade? What I do remember is how much I LOVED the book. Just loved it. I loved the first person voice. I loved that it was tragic. Oh, Phineas and Gene who introduced me to the coming-of-age novels that held my interest for far too long.
Years passed, and eventually all I could remember about the book was that I had LOVED it, that it was tragic, that a tree was somehow involved. So when my son came home from school a few years ago with a copy of that book sticking out of his backpack, I was thrilled. I couldn’t wait to reread it. I envisioned the two of us having long, amazing literary conversations. Book-bonding time with one of my children — it had been too long.