December 1st, 1969. A group of college kids crowded round the TV. Each left as his birth date was called, his future having been decided—Vegas style—by the luck of the draw.
Flying Skillets
David Davis struggles to put food on the table, literally.
1929, 1941, 2001. On coming of age and hope, despite all
My daughter is coming of age in a society struggling to overcome its own shortsightedness, greed, and failure. But in her eyes, I see no condemnation and no angst for the future.
Here’s Your Mom
Why is it that men so often have little to say to the men closest to them: their fathers and sons?
Just a Little Boy, After All
In the face of death, all bravado fades.
When It’s Time for Them to Go
David Davis watches his daughter grow up and leave the house for college, just like his son a decade ago.
What I Have Written, I Have Written
David Davis takes a hard look at himself, his children, and what it means to be a father.
Life Has Knuckles
His forearm flashed instantly. With the snap of his wrist the back of his hand cracked against the corner of my mouth.
The Death Sentence
“This is a coffin?” I thought to myself. I’ll be damned if I’ll bury my son in a beer cooler.