There is nothing more poetic, more spontaneous and more memorable than a first. They create an indelible mark on our very fabric. And there is nothing more prescient about a first than their inability to be replicated. And there’s the sting.
Until you have a child…
I wrote this 7 years ago for Lucas’ 7th birthday. Now he’s 14 and I’m excited for him to experience his first Homecoming as I am flooded with memories of my own. The dressing up, the dinner out, the dancing, the independence and the friends. This is his first, not mine, and these are his memories to make. But boy is it fun going along for the ride!
Tagged: childhood, homecoming, photography, teenagers
We celebrated 13 on the cusp of lockdown; friends warned and armed with antibacterial wipes everyone still showed up and celebrated. A year later with schools just starting to reopen and not sure how comfortable people felt, an outdoor venue was selected in the hopes a few would show up. All showed up. So either everyone is itching to get out or they just love this kid. 
How do you carry your heart of gold? Are there some mornings where its sheer weight makes it hard to rise? Does it push and pull other organs, throwing its weight around? Does it flow blood the same, push beats the same, feel love the same?
If I lived in a gingerbread house every day would be sugar-coated, the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger would waft through the house filling my soul and satisfying my taste buds and my neighbors would all have impeccable taste creating a healthy competition in seasonal landscaping. Each night when I would sleep the skies would fill with gum drops and each morning when I would wake fresh snow would fall. I would believe that everything is possible, that dreams come true and all mankind is inherently good because I live in a gingerbread house, after all. 
Our Everyday 