The Choices You Make Now, The People

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.

Life Has A Way Of Disregarding Even Your Best Intentions.

Looking At The Pond, All I Could Think Was That It Is An Incredivle Thing, How A Whole World Can Rise From What Seems Like Nothing At All.

Lissa Lowered Her Voice And Added, "i Might Not Even Go To School Anyway. I Might Defer And Join The Peace Corps And Go To Africa And Shave My Head And Dig Latrines." "shave Your Head?" I Said, Because, Really, This Was The Most Ludicrous Part Of The Whole Thing. "you? Do You Have Any Idea How Ugly Most People's Bare Heads Are? They've Got All Kinds Of Bumps, Lissa. And You Won't Know Until It's Too Late And You're Flat-out Bald.

I Knew This Feeling, The 2 A.m. Loneliness That I'd Practically Invented.