Love it or Hate it: New York

It's a cliche as old as writers all over America hoping to be heard, but whenever I come to this town, as I did last night, I once again fall in love with it, all over again. By the second night, even more so.

I suppose the only real problem is that New York has never really fallen in love with me.

Oh, we've flirted. I've been here not long after dawn, as a guest on the Today Show, talking about one of my books.

Or I've been here, addressing an assembly of the United Nations.

Or I've been here, negotiating deals.

But the main time I fall in love with New York, once the day's work is done, is after dark, hanging out with very special friends here and there around town.

I've always had friends in New York.

And my connection with them somehow has transcended every break and bump, every crack and wrong turn.

I just wish, that just one time, I could somehow resolve this bi-coastal love affair in my mind.

For as long as I can remember, I've been locked in San Francisco, which intellectually is a very small though vital town. Had I ever been either more selfish, and left my family, or more generous, and been willing to commit whatever editorial gifts I may or may not possess to the fiercely competitive environment here, I might have succeeded or failed, not as a kid from the Midwest, but just a kid, with some words on his fingertips.

But quite honestly, I never had the self-confidence to follow my own dreams, and that is a sad truth I re-experience every time I come back here, the city where I probably should have been.

The writings you read here, amplified by New York's power, would never have ended up as obscurities.

Alas, they did.

As have I.

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Locating Hope

It's such an old lesson that I kick myself every time I forget it. But life keeps dealing all of us so many curve balls that we often fall for the pitch, swinging early or late, and missing badly.

What I mean, of course, is we let depression or despair overcome us, when the reality is there still is another pitch coming, and that one just might be a nice fat fastball thrown right down through the center of the plate.

I'm not sure any of these metaphors make sense to anyone other than a baseball fanatic, so let me be clear what I am writing about here. It's personal. It's about being a father. It's about finding out how to best help my kids find their future paths.

Every kid is different. Today I took my 17-year-old on his first college visit. He met with various people at the campus, including the athletic director, which is appropriate, given his skill as a soccer player.

But what really turned him on was a meeting with an English professor, who understood his love of writing poetry, and most especially, his love of hip-hop.

All of a sudden, this man, the child of immigrants in the Central Valley, was inspiring my son, to pursue his love of writing, music, and the passion of those who have few other channels to express themselves.

For me, not only as a parent, but as an educator and a writer, it was one of the most special moments of my life. We all have the capacity to inspire each other to aspire to create art.

Most of the time, however, we fail. We fall back on practical advice. As a parent, I admit to retreating to this place too often lately. Times are hard, for us, in our family.

We're struggling.

But artists always have struggled, including writers, who rarely are paid what we ought to be paid, IMHO.

Today, a Latino man who has spent most of his life helping kids from the Hood gain hope in themselves took the time and trouble to connect with a different kind of kid from another Hood, trying to find his identity.

I am ever so grateful. I will always be grateful. Because he reminded me of who I have always been, in essence.

We give each other hope. Write, sing, paint, draw!

Pursue your dreams!

Our time here is short. Never waste a moment.

-30-

All Day Long

So, as anyone who knows me knows, I am the father of a soccer player, a damn good one.

But in this world, being damn good at something like a sport at the age of 17 does not exactly mean your future is any clearer than anyone else's.

It just means you're damned good at something right now.

He played two games today, one indoor, in the version called futsal, and scrimmage tonight, outdoor.

In the first game, he not only played his normal great defense, he played offense and in fact scored the goal that put his team ahead in the final minutes.

That game ended in a tie.

The night scrimmage, against another local team, was just a practice. His team lost, 0-2, although when he was on the pitch, it was even, 0-0. One thing about playing defense is you can't do much if your team doesn't score other than make sure the other team doesn't score.

He did his part, brilliantly.

A long day of sports. We were both tired by tonight.

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