A father and his son are preparing in the pre-dawn hours to travel to the market town, a full day’s journey away through neighboring villages, across rolling hills and valleys. As the father finishes loading their donkey with the provisions needed for the day, he tells his son to get
“Kayla” could hardly be described as a “bad” kid. Yes, she has shown poor judgment on a number of recent occasions. Yes, she skipped school and brought five of her friends home to drink beer in the middle of the day. Yes, her grades are below her ability and her
My buddy, Pete, can play any song he’s ever heard. We call him the human juke box. From “Little Old Lady from Passadena” to “Lady Madonna,” from “Maybelline” to “Layla,” he knows them all. And not just 60s songs either. He knows every jazz song he’s ever heard and every
Tami still hadn’t taken a step at 24 months. Because her mother carried her everywhere? Because her mother “enabled” Tami in her “addiction” to being enveloped in her mother’s arms? “How will she learn to walk if you just carry her everywhere?” helpful strangers suggested. “Put the baby down and
Blaming gives me great comfort. If Mickey Owen hadn’t dropped the third strike in the fourth game of the 1941 World Series… If I had bought AOL in 1992… If I had sold AOL in 2000… If Lee Harvey Oswald hadn’t shot JFK in 1963… And those Hatfields and McCoys.
I’m at my wit’s end about my son. I can’t even begin to tell you how bad it’s gotten. He’s 17 now, but I’ve been having trouble with Andres since the day he turned two years old. He just won’t do anything I tell him, even the simplest little suggestions,
How many times have I told him to just have a Milky Way Bar? Just one lousy candy bar. It’s not like I’m asking for the world. Why won’t my son just have some chocolate? Yes, it’s something of an emotionally laden issue for me. I admit it. See, my
Recently another parenting article found its way into print by the next in a line of namby pamby, touchy feely, peace, love, ten-speed, hearts and flowers, knitting granola, Whimpasaurus moms. Amy Chua argues for no sleepovers. Of course sensible parents who want what is best for their children do not
My dad was born in Philadelphia in 1924. At home. Hospitals for delivering babies were a new concept and didn’t cater to poor families of new immigrants. When my dad was a few months shy of his sixth birthday, his father–after whom I am named–was murdered. It wasn’t until I
A student is caught texting during an exam, a clear violation of the honor code at her high school. The teacher looks at the student’s phone. Who is on the other side of the conversation? Who is supplying the answers to the test? Another ethically challenged student? No. The answers
Copyright © David Altshuler 1980 – 2022 | Miami, FL • Charlotte, NC | (305) 978-8917 | [email protected]
