A Good Home Must Be Made, Not

As For Me, I've Chosen To Follow A Simple Course: Come Clean. And Wherever Possible, Live Your Life In A Way That Won't Leave You Tempted To Lie. Failing That, I'd Rather Be Disliked For Who I Truly Am Than Loved For Who I Am Not. So, I Tell My Story. I Write It Down. I Even Publish It. Sometimes This Is A Humbling Experience. Sometimes It's Embarrassing. But I Haul Around No Terrible Secrets.

For A Parent, It's Hard To Recognize The Significance Of Your Work When You're Immersed In The Mundane Details. Few Of Us, As We Run The Bath Water Or Spread The Peanut Butter On The Bread, Proclaim Proudly, "i'm Making My Contribution To The Future Of The Planet." But With The Exception Of Global Hunger, Few Jobs In The World Of Paychecks And Promotions Compare In Significance To The Job Of Parent.

I'd Known Enough Flush Times And Lean Ones To Understand That Money Came And Went. And That One Day I'd Also Lose My Looks, My Seemingly Boundless Energy And Maybe The Ability To Catch The Eye Of An Attractive Man And The Audacity To Rollerblade. My Name Would Be Forgotten. So Would Bad Reviews, And Good Ones. But Loving A Child Is Something That Lasts. Long After All The Rest Is Gone, That's What Endures.

If A Man Wishes To Truly Not Be Written About, He Would Do Well Not To Write Letters To 18-year-old Girls, Inviting Them Into His Life.

Wherever It Is You Make Your Home, There Is Always This Other Place, This Other Person, Calling To You. Come To Me. Come Back.