Leaving New York City this morning, I passed a neighborhood that is new to me, Koreatown, where I had dinner last night. On the TaxiTV, I watched a promo for the Tribeca Film Festival. People were coming and going. My eyes fell upon a fleeting image of a lovely woman with long hair serving as a translator.
Outside the cab window, which I had rolled down, were the usual Saturday morning sights in New York. I've come and gone so many times from this great City that each additional time I have to say goodbye now feels like the last -- you know, how much longer can these feelings last?
New York, for a person like me, is much like Europe. I'm allowed to feel like a writer there. My ideas are valued.
Back home, here in the sunshine state, the dominant reality is not intellectual but physical. I made it to my soccer star Aidan's game just in time to witness the opposition's first goal in a 6-0 rout.
But he played well, as he always does.
Afterwards, as is always the case in our clan, the brothers closed in on each other, with other topics to discuss than the lost game.
Dylan likes to claim the high ground.
JuJu likes to dance up and down the steps.
Our community of friends includes so many big brothers and sisters loving little brothers and sisters. When you are young, a few years make a huge difference.
And, in the end, friendship always trumps outcome.
The way my youngest works her way into this male world fascinates me. The big boys always like her, and she likes them. Of course, on the soccer field she is her own terror. That's why they call her Thunderfoot.
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